1:30 a.m. The 1 line

People’s defenses are down at this time of night. It shows on their faces, the slackened jaws, the soft droopy eyes, the lost-in-thought faces or the deadened blank expressions. Everyone’s slightly unbuttoned, in their own private space. On the subway hurtling downtown, the tiles a blur outside, the lights harsh and unforgiving. Woman with huge headphones on, her eyes are open, she is kind of fat, her hands folded over her belly, and her face shows that she is a million miles away. She’s in the music. Her body is there … but her mind is not. I love the look in her eyes. A man across from me – so big he takes up two seats – he is wearing a billowing black trench coat, a little black porkpie hat, and his skin is a dark black. He has fallen asleep, his mouth hangs open just a bit, and he is tipping over slightly to one side. As though he may just curl up on the subway seat and fall asleep in earnest. Nobody sits on either side of him. Everyone’s lost in their own space. A homeless man sits over in the corner – a hood completely covering his head, his body in the relaxed still pose of the deeply passed out. His long lanky legs with his battered sneakers stick out into the subway train. It’s a long ride. It’s a local train. A guy gets on and sits next to me. He hunches over, reading a huge paperback. I’m guessing it was a textbook. It was enormous. If it weren’t 1:30 in the morning, and if I weren’t 3/4 asleep … I might have squinted to get a load of the title. But it’s too late for that. Too early. The tiles are a dizzying blur outside the window. We briefly emerge from the tunnel, and we go elevated for a bit. I can see the dim constellation of the Jersey side of the Hudson through the black, at the ends of the streets we hurtle over. I feel everything draining out of me. Thoughts, wants, judgments, energy. My eyes are soft and heavy. I am awake but I am on the edge of consciousness. There is life all around me … well, maybe the homeless guy was dead, I have no way of knowing … but our daytime jostling energy has softened. It’s night, and the train is really loud and squeaky and rattly … but somehow it feels quiet. Even the train noise has blurred. Blurred into the constellation across the black river. Washing away. The confrontational nature of the sound draining out, blurred edges. I know I made it home last night … I know I took the subway to the bus and then walked down the dark street to my apartment … but I don’t remember it. I remember getting off at Times Square, my eyelids puffy, and after that … only fragments. Orange lamplight on the brick sidewalk. A stark shadow. The rustling of the leaves. Damp street. And now it’s morning and the barriers are up again. I woke up in my own bed so I obviously made it home in my somnambulistic state. I still feel a bit puffy-eyed and soft. Raw. Like I need to work a bit to get my game face on. The soft black blurred landscape of the wee hours is back in the daylight to its sharp insistent verticals. The city dismantles itself and then re-erects itself on a daily basis. I just try to ride the wave.