Tunnel Ride

I was rushed and pushed the exact change into the ticket machine. I grabbed the ticket and then shoved it into the slot to open the doors to get through. I had to wait a second because the ticket would be spit out to me a second time as my proof of payment. I wouldn't later be able to exit without this little card. Here you're presumed a thief until proven innocent.

I flew down the concrete steps and looked for an announcement for the next train to San Francisco. Friday night 8:30 pm. and there wasn't a person in sight. Great. How could no one be waiting for a train to 'The City'? Sure I knew that I'm in the boring little green city across the bay. I knew it's no New York, London or Barcelona. But still, when would the next train even be announced?

I resignedly opened my paper and took a sip of my coffee. Just then I looked up and locked gazes with a striking looking man. Lean, fine features, and crazy frizzy brown hair piled abundantly on his head in a shape I can't describe. And he was also excellently dressed, which on this side of the bay is often a rarity. Stylish shoes and a slick black jacket with OBEY decaled on the back. Cool.

I looked away. Better to not be waiting alone. I thumbed through the paper. It was the "Best of" issue. Best Asian noodle place to eat before having sex, best piercing shop, best used clothing store... desire, desire, desire. I read on and imagined doing all the fun things that were made to do in San Francisco, if I ever could get there. The minutes hung like hours and there was no train in sight. My frustration level mounted. Maybe if I hadn't just lived in Europe for six months and gotten used to trains coming every two minutes. Maybe if it wasn't a Friday night, maybe if I wasn't trying to get into "The City," one of the most populated places this side of the Mississippi.

Finally, in a moment of exasperated spontaneity, I called out to frizzyboy "Are we ever going to get to San Francisco?!" He smiled and then grinned and said, "It's going to come, you know, it's a Friday night." "A Friday night!" I exploded, "where are all the people going into The City?" He grinned again; "they're not taking the Bart." I rolled my eyes petulantly. He responded, "They'd have to leave by midnight." And both of us knew we weren't going to finish our evenings that early, he'd be sleeping at a friend he told me.

I signaled my displeasure again by throwing myself back into the rag that lay upon my lap. And lo and behold a Bart bound for San Francisco thundered into the station. We stood a few feet from each other as we waited for its doors to open. He got in first and seated himself by the window. Without a moment's hesitation I followed him, sliding into the seat next to him. We resumed talking, this time about more intimate things.

.... There is more of this story ...