MARTA

8.9.2026

I dunno if you’ve ever ridden MARTA—

but I have.

I’m not special for it.

You won’t be either.

Special, I mean.

You will be a “Marta rider.”

You will have traversed the A.

And I don’t really know what that means for you.

I don’t really know what it means for me either.

I just know that it means something.

Tonight, as the train pulled out from airport station—

it lerched,

the way it always does.

The guy in front of me wasn’t holding the handles or the bars.

So—

I reached up.

I grabbed the handle on his backpack.

As the train moved he looked at me,

eyes wide like:

“WTF are you doing?”

But I smiled.

And he smiled.

And the train moved.

And he knew—

I anchored him.

He moved to a seat after.

I don’t know if he liked it or her didn’t.

But he knew in that minute.

He knew that I had him.

He knew that he wasn’t goin’ anywhere.

The train moved through the ATL.

And A—

He danced.

And I grinned as I watched him.

The train was full.

Full of people.

Full of people goin’ the places that they’re goin’.

And A danced.

And I smiled.

And he showed me his phone, Jack and Diane.

Then he cleared the que.

And he put an ear bud in M’s ear.

And he handed me his phone.

And I searched through Spotify.

And I clicked Celine, “It’s all coming back go me.”

And that first chord struck,

and M raised her hand when it hit—

we all know the one.

And A grinned.

And I changed my playlist to that song.

And the train full of people looked at us mouthing, “It’s all coming back to me.”

And for a moment.

On some train.

Moving through the A—

we were all the same.

We were the train—

And the underground—

And the song in the night—

And it was coming back to us—

And the earth moved—

And the music played—

And we were headed home—

And it was beautiful.

It really fuckin’ was.

And I could try to explain that,

only—

I can’t.

But on that train—

where Celine sang—

and I grabbed the handle of a stranger—

and our eyes met—

and he didn’t know,

but he grinned.

Just for a moment—

just on the train—

we were the same.

BCN by IAD

I can feel the pull of life’s momentum when I walk down the concourse at the airport. Normally that’s in Hartsfield, but today I’m at Dulles. I pass through a sea of lives that I’ll never touch, apart from this second of passing— this moment that

Dead People

Tonight after Monday Sushi, which A was tragically not at— Small side bar: I hate that. The restaurant asked for him, I miss him, etc. It feels like just some part of you is missing. End side bar. So be that as it may, M and I suffered through it

Crankin', Stinkin', Dead Leaves

Can you ever just hear the Earth crank? I don’t mean cosmically. Too big. I mean, like the gears in my leather-banded watch. Just tickin’ on like it’s the 11th, even though it’s the 13th. Two days slow. Sometimes I can hear it. It comes in

Market Basket

Most of my observations hit me in the grocery store. I wonder if that means something? If rather than the alignment of the stars or whatever color my chakra is that day, it has something to do with how close the leeks are to the cilantro when I pass through

Read more

BCN by IAD

Dead People

Crankin', Stinkin', Dead Leaves

Market Basket