I could feel the rain on my skin as my classmates and I hurried over to the T station that afternoon. Tiffany, Kristy, Amy and I were making our way to our destination: Downtown Crossing. The weather that afternoon was not welcoming; the clouds abounded and a constant rain hovered over us the entire trip. As we entered the Davis Square T station, we realized our mistake—we had chosen to take our trip during rush hour. While the mob of people made it difficult to board the T, or to even nab a seat, it dawned on me that this was the perfect opportunity to observe a large majority of Bostonians. What could be better than a subway car overflowing with commuters to get to know your fellow city folk?
Tiff, Kristy, Amy, and I huddled close together on the car. We made a few jokes, giggled a bit, and shared experiences. (It was interesting to learn that Kristy spent a month in Europe with only her best friend and a free spirit to take her where she pleased.) At the Porter Square stop, a man sat down next to me, and began to play music on his headphones loudly. It was a sort of Jamaican/Reggae music, which was a little foreign to me. I listened intently, and noticed how his head bobbed to the rhythm of the notes. This African-American ma
. . .
We stepped inside, relieved to be free of the dreary weather. As we began to get up to leave, I noticed a single CLF publication in Spanish. In the streets of Boston, I interacted with these commuters. Maybe you should try your luck with that police officer at the corner. I wished I had brought a bit more money with me so that I could’ve purchased some roasted nuts and a vanilla latté. “That’s our only publication in Spanish, at the moment, but we’re working on producing more,” Marisa said. We smiled and danced around for a bit, until the doors began to close. The rain continued to follow us, and the winds were only getting stronger. Curiously, we looked around, and wondered what exactly the Conservation Law Foundation was. Suddenly, I noticed an elderly man at the end of the car. A few moments later, Marisa stepped out of the elevator and introduced herself. (or was it the other way around? Amy was our leader with the directions!). Why would a man, who obviously looks like he is in need of assistance, be making a trip on the T by himself, at this hour? It was baffling to me. In Boston, rush hour is literally a rush of people running around; in Miami, rush hour is a 3 hour traffic jam on the expressways.
Approximate Word count =
1864
Approximate Pages =
7 (250 words per page double spaced)
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