On the train a girl stands with her bicycle. She alternates sides depending on the opening doors. She’s cordial and cute with a tank top and shorts. An awkward college boy walks up and readies to exit at the next stop, Fullerton. “Nice bike. Is it new?”

“Yeah, it’s a few months old,” she says. Her nose crinkles as she smiles at him. She doesn’t know she’s cute.

“Do you go to school?” He twitches. A lot. There are a few scars preventing hair from covering his crown. His shirt says something about an engineering school.

“No, I graduated last year. Now I’m just temping.” They are both scraping their brains for conversation.

“I’m Brian.” He extends his hand and wraps hers in a warm shake. “Christa.”

“Crystal?”

“No, Christa.”

They discuss bookstores and movies. Fullerton arrives. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah. Bye, Brian.”

“Bye Chirsta.” He smiles on the platform and stops. He turns and returns to the open door. “Maybe we could get a drink or something?”

“Okay.”

“Um, let me…,” he murmurs while digging in his bag for something, anything to jot down the digits with. Click. The doors close without warning. His eyes meet hers and turn from excitable to disappointed. At himself, at life. He is a single window away from possible sexual contact.

As the train groans away I can’t help but explode into laughter. Loud. I have been watching from a seat directly beside the episode wondering how it would end up. Would she say yes? She did! What is the plan of action? Wow! Even better!

She looks at me and does not laugh. She merely says, “It’s not that funny.”

“Sorry, but it is.” I calm down and return to my book.

Hell, what a hoot. I’m waiting patiently in this room.

It juts out into the water at 55th Street. Grassy, settled upon rock, complete with indoor plumbing; Promontory Point asks you to lie in the grass and drink wine. Though your gazers are constantly batting to and fro, it is almost as if they’re closed, asleep.

There’s a man in a suit who says his name is Jerk Chicken. He is giving advice to a shirtless man concerning women. “You think I get women?” Jerk Chicken’s hands and head move simultaneously to emphasize the importance of the question being asked.

“I don’t know.”

With a name like Jerk Chicken, you could win big or lose miserably. Shirtless Man decided to turn his back on Jerk Chicken, and the suited JC wandered off into the hot sun.

Several children rushed onto the scene. Children of all races. The common denominator was swimming attire. They were over the cusp of the rocks, but their barking and yelping could be heard from hundreds of yards away. Where did they come from? It’s Saturday. There is no school…where are their parents? Are they swallowing sewage? Do I care?

Dana and I brought a bottle of white wine and gurgled it down while reading magazines, taking pictures, and swatting a single, pesky bee. It rushed my face and skimmed my nose. I wanted it dead. Luckily, it dive-bombed my sport bottle of wine and became extremely intoxicated extremely quick. I sealed the lid and shook it a few times to make sure the fucker would drown. I opened the top. The legs squirmed no more. I dipped a plastic fork gurney in and retrieved the body. Resting between the tines, the bee twitched a leg. Another answered its call. The fucker was coming back…and I’m sure he’s gonna be pissed. My hand involuntarily shook and my striped friend fell into the grass. As far as I know he’s still there telling anyone who’ll listen that his father was in a band with Bruce Springsteen in high school.

The wine eventually ran out. The magazines were read and the surrounding audience had moved on. All that was left was the sunset, but after such a bright day, I couldn’t bear to witness it. Sunsets are for when you have been inside all day, maybe at work. You are on your way home and you witness it from the train.

Big, yellow cereal ball that it is moving and vibrating and killing you.