Going to the airport is always a trip (ha) early in the morning. Walking to the train at 5am, the only sound the clump clomping of the woman walking in front of me in her wooden clogs, her talking non-stop to a man who can only answer “mm-hmm” like a sitcom husband. He breaks this pattern by letting out a giant spit, the sound seemingly his only way to defy her incessant nonsense chatter.
The train stop is gloomy, not because there’s fog but everyone is going to work and they don’t look happy. The seats are filled with people in black pants and work boots, their polo shirts emblazoned with the company they probably wish they didn’t work for.
Everyone has headphones. Three guys around me bob thief heads up and down and mouth the word, I imagine they’re listening to rap. Most people have their eyes closed, trying to imagine their back in bed with their husband or boyfriend or someone they really want to sleep with.
One man who looks like a Middle Eastern Santa Claus boards the train. He adjusts himself and his large sack into the seat then pulls down his wool cap (which you gotta have in Los Angeles) then wraps a scarf around his entire head. I guess he’s just delivered his packages and really needs sleep. Rest well, I’ve got to get on the other train.