by Simon Soon

Some nights ago, traveling back from another night out in town, the train took me on the wrong direction. Changing tracks at an outer burrough stop, I listened to an animated young boy, who couldn’t have been older than 20, talking to a stranger, who sat beside him, about his kids. When the train arrived, it took us mid-way through a tunnel beneath the river and stopped dead on its tracks for a good half hour. That was where, with no devise in mind, I let time slip through, bearing much irritation and impatience.