Brisk fall evening. Sun has set, but there's some lingering light. Night is pressing down hard on the deep blue sky. I'm wearing my corduroy jacket. Fashionable, fall-colored scarf. Hat. It is good to be walking in cold weather, wearing cold-weather clothes, thinking cold-weather thoughts. The wind against my face. Days like this make me feel free. Strong. Like anything is possible.

The small park above Clarenden metro is mostly empty, which seems strange for 6:30 on a weekday evening. I've just written a good couple of pages at Murky and I feel clean. Void of foul spirits. Writing can be like an exorcism, or at least a very effective spring cleaning.

I pass a guy in a wheelchair waiting for the light to change. He nods at me. I smile back. It's clear that others feel the energy - the strange power of this day.

Now down the escalator, into the underground, and the warm gusts below make me loosen my scarf. The metro should not be heated, I decide. Not to this extent, anyway. But it's okay. I'm good with it.

I've got my earbuds in. Winter hat hiding my gray hair. Only the longer brown ends peek out from underneath. Certainly, I appear as the poster-boy for the young urban hipster, which is a nice illusion for a thirty-something dude with a bad back to maintain. Yes. I have command of my surroundings. I know where I am going and I will take the most direct route to get there.

Oscar on the headphones. His fingers touching those ivories like God's does. Painting bold colors in my mind. Propelling me. Gladdening me.

I wave my plastic pass, flick of the wrist, the gates open. As if to say, Enter and go where you must, young urban denizen! This station is now yours!

Over Oscar's playing, I hear the rush of an approaching train. Then another. Two trains entering the station at the same time. Metro has sent them both to me for my choosing. The city is working with me today. I pick up my pace. I shall follow my nose to the right train. No need to read signs. Because this is my turf and I am certain of my direction. It is instinctual.

The doors, waiting for me to board, close gently behind me. They welcome me to this crowded car. A little too crowded, I think. Especially for an evening city-bound train. But I quickly dismiss the thought. Grab the rail above me. A little winded, but still good.

Be careful of moments like these.

I remove my earbuds. Take out a book from my pack. The next station is called: Virginia Square. And what follows is the faint sound of my ego popping. Leave it to a city that gives you everything to just as quickly taketh away and put you back in your place.

Here's the good thing about boarding the wrong metro train: nobody needs to know. Just roll with it. Get off at the next stop. Assertively - like nothing's wrong. You fully intended to get off here: Ah, yes! Virginia Square/GMU. Here's my stop everybody. Excuse me! Now walk with the flow of traffic. Casually, nonchalantly. Make your way over to the other platform. Easy.

The stations may vary, but the technique is essentially the same. Trust me, I've done this more times then I'd like to admit. It's one of the downsides of being a daydreamer.


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