Description
Next stop on the 1 train, 59th street, feeling the rust and the dust on my fingers. The windows are cracked and dirty, the seats are torn and stained, the doors are jammed and silent. The train is a relic of a past that is gone, a past that I miss, a past that I love. I remember how we used to hop the train, take it to Manhattan, watch the cruise ships by the pier come and go. The sound of their horns reverberating through the coast, the smell of their engines filling the air, the sight of their passengers waving and smiling.
We used to dream of joining them, of sailing away to a new world, a better world, a happier world. We used to sit on the couch with grandpa, listening to his stories, laughing at his jokes, learning from his wisdom. He used to tell us that life is an adventure, that we should always be curious, that we should always be hopeful. He used to hug us and kiss us and tell us that he loved us. But he is gone now, and so are they. The ships, the passengers, the couch, the train. All gone, all lost, all outbound.
