Looking at my phone. Subway platform. RSS. Late news of Jem Cohen’s talk yesterday. Opinions of engineers. Photographs of Nazi flags hanging from tenement balconies. I kept reading as the G arrived, but looked up with the bell announcing closing doors. Saw my reflection in the tempered glass; my hair was a mess. A moment of comparison with all those clean German lines.
And there was Jem, sitting on a sideways seat. The smallest possible city. A wave. And then his train was out the station.