The train engine finally shut off A janitor in reflective vest was moving out Homeless people cabin by cabin Like heavy bonsais or withered Christmas trees in February But they suddenly turned into cheap travelers Roaming leisurely with a duffle bag or a rolling luggage On the chilly underground platform at the O’Hare Airport To another throbbing train with light and heat And again they were ready to depart My best friend was on her plane flying to Toronto now Left me sitting on the cushionless plastic chair Staring at a thick lip young man from the corner of my eye “What did you fucking say? You want to mess me up Nigger?” Another black man with gray beard burst out cursing “I said nothing, man. I am just saying…” that young man stood up, too Splay-footed, sticking his hands into jacket pockets “Come on! Daddy kicks your ass!”(Is that really necessary to make scene) I still sat alone. There was no reason to miss you so soon The young man strolled out with an alert look A security guy walked through the train, muttering to his walky-talky The bad-tempered chairwarmer sat quiet I noticed he was in a funny, elongated black knit beanie Like a sooty and greasy chef. (Can he cook?) Several early travelers and off-duty airport workers entered The train started to move. (I got the next 45 minutes to figure out) (Don’t think he will ever get off this train…) People choose to be homeless for reasons. (Is he a rail buff?) A giggle digressed me, from an Asian woman In her fifties. A housewife like Latina was chatting to her Nodding with a light frown, she occasionally twitched her lips Between long pauses. Later, when she got off, the Latina said goodbye to her In a way that made me realize they had never met before And she was probably badgered and rather to wait for the next train (When I kept talking the Jürgen Habermas thing. Did I bother you?) Cold air licked my face when the cabin doors opened It surprised me that my face blushed, even it was not for no reason Then the train approached Damen, where our favorite Myopic Books is But our friend Mr. Purichanont had moved out of this neighborhood To London. “Everyone of us is away from the same place,” once he said, “Therefore, we are not alone.” Yes and no. Oh, how cute The two in couple-suit-like suede boots tucked them in a pair of chairs Turning them into a loveseat. I felt how shabby the rest of the passengers were The salary man in tie and suit didn’t count, he was actually not here But in his mobile devices. The adjacent empty seat reminded me Your cheesy joke about the song “After You‘ve Gone”— “After you have gun and left me crying After you have gun there is no denying” It was a lame opening for your favorite gun control topic Probably to counterbalance my Habermas bear jamboree The only thing I remembered was stunningly trivial: The Omnibus Crime Control and Safe Streets Act of 1968 Because I asked you to publish an omnibus Of my literary works, if I die before you, and of course you said Hell no!” (You don’t want to live without me, right?) (Hell no!) The train broke through tunnel and ran on an elevated railway The winter sun rose slowly, yet was ever resolute --

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