Riding the metro on a Saturday morning is desolate, and I share the train with one other passenger, a gentleman already asleep at one end of the train.
I’m headed for Twinbrook, which is not a long ride, but long enough to get some reading done. A space opera is in my bag, along with a book about municipal darwinism, and a fantasy novel about assassins.
Most of the trip is underground, and it’s jarring to feel the sunlight on my face when we hit the surface before Grosvenor. More jarring is the fact that I realize I’m waking up more and more every time the doors open and bring fresh air into the train car.
It’s Twinbrook soon enough and I pack my book into my backpack. The doors open and I walk over the rain slick hexagons with care.
I think next week will be a longer ride, and I’ll bring more books.