sky harbor.

A US Army general in full uniform and a man from Southwest Fuel step on the train. The general has that bracing army posture and a taut, tan face, while the fuel man is all schlub, balding, wearing a t-shirt and coke-bottle glasses. They seem like they met on the plane, or at the stop, and the fuel man seems more excited for conversation than the army man. They sit right behind the baby, and the baby is delighted. You can see the glint in her eye as she longs to touch the general's medals.

Tempe Campus

A Hispanic mother and baby sit on the train. The baby looks like it might be four-months-old or so, and it has  pierced ears, one of which is slightly deformed and looks Vulcan. The mother holds the baby so it can see over her shoulder, and I can't remember the last time I've seen a human being so enthralled by anything. I would be lying if I said I wasn't jealous in a small way- each time words flash on the LCD screen, each time the bell rings for the doors to open, it is thrilling and new. The baby turns to look out the window with equal delight. I remember Wordsworth-

What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,  
  Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;    
    We will grieve not, rather find    
    Strength in what remains behind;    

Suddenly I feel old, even though I am in the prime of youth.

tempe campus ii.

A girl comes onto the train, and she is wearing short shorts with leather knee-boots. She has the typical ASU bleach blonde and tan look going on, and tops off her outfit with a fringed leather purse. At first I think she looks foolish and trampy, but then I feel bad. Maybe she is a very nice person, and maybe I look pretentious in this pleated dress, with such anemic skin.

watch out for the crazies.

The train is crowded, and at the moment I feel lucky. The man straight  across from me is strange in that way that you can't pinpoint, but leaves you with the feeling that he could lash out. His hair is the weirdest color of blond I can remember seeing- it's a literal yellow, in accidental greasy spikes beneath a baseball cap. He wears sweat pants and marshmallowy sneakers, and a Pulty Homes windbreaker. Maybe that's it- the windbreaker. It's Phoenix, Arizona in September, and the weather has to be over 100 degrees, even after dark. He carries a backpack like a student, although he must be 30 years old.

He moves oddly, too. His jaw hurts- do I see a gold molar? He places his fingers in his mouth and twitches suddenly, three times. He turns and I swear he's staring at me- I look down. A minute later he twitches again, fists balled and jerking his back in three short motions. He stares at me once again and I am grateful for the crowd as I stare down.

Phoenix Police hop on the train at the next stop. Before I can look up, he and the rest of the homeless have scattered. I could swear that we all exhale.

strangers on a strange light rail.

A student from China in jeans and a black polo sits straight up in his seat, clutching his backpack on his lap. A beefy old American man in a yellow polo enters the train at the Sky Harbor stop, sits next to him, and informs him that he is sightseeing Phoenix. The Chinese student gives a shy laugh. The man then proceeds to initiate conversation- he has nowhere to go for the next six hours, and figures this is the cheapest form of entertainment. The student laughs awkwardly again. The man keeps him in conversation, asking about life as a student and China. The student's English is broken, but he obliges the man; the man informs him that “China has a promising future.” At this point the student belly laughs. “Maybe if we get the right government,” he responds. I put in my headphones and listen to Wilco. I can't listen to the man embarrass himself much more.

around washington and 20th street.

A father and his three children get on. The father is morbidly obese with greasy hair tied back into a ponytail, and black crucifix tattoos all down his arms. His face is harsh- he could have been a cholo when he was young. The children follow him like ducks, looking like they just stepped out of church, the girls in their Sunday best and patent leather shoes, the son dressed neatly as his father's miniature. I don't hear what they say because my headphones are firmly in place and the beefy American is still questioning the student.

I mean to ignore them and stare out the window, but the youngest girl sits next to me and I can't help but look at her- she can't be more than five years old. I've never been the sort to fawn over little children, but my lacking maternal instinct kicks in at the sight of her perfect braided pigtails. I want to touch her smooth black hair and tell her how pretty she looks in her blue sun dress, how there could be nothing more precious in the world than the little leather bows on her shoes. I don't do any of this, of course. I simply smile at her once and then gaze out the window. I catch her staring at the embroidered roses on my shoes.

tempe to phoenix.

A man wheels in on a Jazzy scooter. It's pimped out with an American flag with a bald eagle on it and a license plate that says, “I'm deaf, but I'm also ignoring you.” He is balding, but his hair is white and long; he wears a baseball cap that says “native” on the back. He smokes one of those plastic nicotine faux-cigarettes and exits at the greyhound track. The heat is horrible today. He looks about sixty.

I can't tell if I should laugh or cry.