She looks at her phone - again- waiting for the text that could change everything.
Nothing.
She looks up at the tracks, then across to the other platform. How long had it been since she ventured on a subway - to take the hour long train into the city - to arrive in the bustling Garden where only concrete and basketball grow?
She looks around. No one is looking anywhere but at the palm of his or her hand. . .
What was it like? Does she even remember? When the phone booth sat at the corner of the street? When she last stood awaiting the Metro with nothing but her backpack and time on her hands?
Maybe there was a paper or magazine - an ad across the way. Then a stranger with the 3 piece suit or the beleaguered mother and her toddler. There might be a conversation - a comment about the weather, a communal huff when the train did not slow down.
Now, the conversations were only virtual with someone miles away, though she was so close to them all.
What had she lost? Was it worth what she gained?
Did she ever account for the change - think about the shift of interaction from people to machines?
Or did the world rush forward - barreling down a track with an ending it may not expect?
- Writer's Workshop, 2019 (or earlier)
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