A man sat sobbing in the corner in the back of my train car. It’s assumed that he was crying because of a broken heart, because he entered the train with a woman. It wasn’t until the woman had left at the 24th Street Mission station that the chest-constricting sobs began. It’s assumed that his heart was broken by a piece of shit. It’s assumed the woman was a piece of shit because she had broken this seeming innocent man’s heart, in public no less.
Regardless of what was assumed, the man sobbed in the corner all the same, feeling the rotting pain of an atrophying happiness. He remained ignorant and apathetic to any sympathetic or disgusted look directed his way.
I had my head down on my smartphone, wondering why HTC made such half-functional pieces of technological dog shit.
A teenage girl fidgeted nervously in the seat two rows back from mine. There was a suspicious looking man staring at the young girl across the train car. Another well-intentioned man kept his eye on the potential pedophile, only to relax when the creepy-looking elder had slunk off at the Glen Park Station. Feeling good about his vigilance, the well-intentioned man walked off with straight shoulders and a small smirk at the Daly City Station.
The teenage girl picked up her ringing phone and answered in excitement:
“Yeah, I’m on my way to the airport right now. Yeah. No, me too, I can’t wait to finally meet you.”
The fidgeting became more pronounced. Maybe she was an adopted child who was seeing her biological father for the first time. Maybe she was meeting an internet friend who may or may not be a catfish. Maybe she was welcoming back a long lost loved one, one who had just managed to conquer the lonely distance separating them.
I didn’t notice. I was hurriedly trying to check into my flight, alternating my eyes between my watch and my half functional piece of technological dog shit to see if I’d make my flight to LAX on time.
There was a fatality at the Colma Station. The deceased has suffered a heart attack while awaiting a Northbound train to take him to Montgomery Station. The crowd surrounded him for a few minutes until the paramedics came, then one by one, they had all filed into their respective trains. Many had updated their Facebook statuses and blogs to reflect the capricious scale of death and life.
As my SFO train had passed by, the paramedics were covering the old man with the white sheet of death.
At this point, I was staring in exasperation at a blank black screen, wondering how the hell my phone turned off by itself when it was showing that it had 80% battery.
I hate you, HTC.