Tuesday's gone

I wanted to close my eyes on the world. Like everyone else on this train, attempting sleep, feigning disinterest, reading the paper, scribbling notes, I leaned my head back and pretended not to see. I didn't see the old man with long, gray hair and scabs on his legs like a boy. Or the young man, much too well-pressed for this part of town, much too innocently dressed in his navy pants and creased shirt and straight nose. Or the woman next to me, attacking her notes desperately, ignoring the attempts to draw her into conversation by a too-friendly man. Like everyone else riding the Orange line to Forest Hills at midnight, I wanted to close my eyes on the world.