Obscurity in Glass

I sit alone in my car in the Metro station parking lot, the chill wind filtering through the cracked window. It is quiet—very quiet—and dark. I am watching the taxicabs.

Oily black and aging metal, the taxicabs extend the line with mindless purpose—coasting, pushing, taking up room. And then, after they have settled, they wait—radiators clicking like off-beat metronomes.