Evening Train to the Bronx

This week, instead of taking the A train home, I accidentally took the D train from Columbus Circle to the Bronx. I didn't realize my mistake until after W145th street, when it went express for several stops. The car was full. Those with seats sat with eyes closed and heads bobbing, exhausted from the days' work. Those standing clung wearily to the metal bars overhead. After the doors closed, silence enveloped the train. Soon a man began sermonizing in Spanish. Ordinarily I am put off by people who proselytize on trains-- usually they have wild eyes filled with anger and wrath. But this man spoke in the singsong, gentle voice of a priest. I suddenly felt like I was in mass, the subway a cathedral. A momentary peace settled on the train. The man finished, and the train returned to silence. The next station fractured the peace as passengers rushed out, eager to reach home.