I grew wings.
On the red line, I was cozily tucked-in under headphones and sunglasses. Low frequency music is almost inaudible on a train, except for those freckles of cracks and pops, that Pole sampled from old vinyl. All I'm really doing is seeing and hearing. And thinking. This time, as the train goes over the Charles River I'm looking at the Prudential and Hancock buildings with goodbye eyes. How many more times will I get to see this?
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