The Group on the Train

A short man in a long black coat, thick black glasses, balding head passes me. As he gets on the train, the usual riders greet him. He sits down, takes out a cigar, sticks it in his mouth without lighting it. He comes back to borrow a newspaper for the duration of the ride, cigar still hanging out of his mouth. The usuals who sit by me in the back of the train car, talk back and forth to him. They laugh, they joke, they share their lives on the train. One is dressed in a warm outfit looking like he will work all day outside. One is dressed in business attire already working on his computer at 6am. One can't figure out how to see who has texted him about a friend's death. One jokes around and then pulls his ski cap over his eyes and tries to sleep. The texter starts using his phone as a walkie talkie, and he talks to his friend the train conductor who keeps walking through to take care of tickets. It seems like almost everyone on this train car know each other. They must ride together most days. First train of the day. Second car back. They group, they talk back and forth between groups, they catch up on life and the latest gossip, including last night's American Idol episode. I want to be a part of a group like this. They happen to pass in and out of each others' lives. The get on and off at different stops, they have completely different lines of work, they come from all sorts of backgrounds, but for a few minutes on the train each morning, their lives intersect. It was really cool to join this group today.