10:24pm - Nov. 30 2011

Already knowing where I'm going to sit before the train arrives, I lean against the red pillar two thirds of the way down the platform. When I get on, I take my usual spot next to the window in the middle of the first car. An elderly man with a gulf war vet hat sits across from me. As the train is about to leave, two kids, one with an Eagan high school hoodie run up to the automated ticket machine. After one stumbles with his change to get his ticket the doors close. They hit the button on the door and get on. They spot a transfer left on one of the seats and they grab it. From their reaction to the stamp on the back, I can tell it's still good. Lucky day for him.

The elderly man is trying to open a box of chocolate covered cherries. These where my mom's favorite candy. It's shrink wrapped and he digs in his yellow nails to tear the plastic. He manages to pull out the top tray of five chocolate and begins to pop them in his mouth. One after the other, he holds them for a moment in his teeth between his gums and his lips. Almost as if he is giving a kiss or imitating a monkey. Before reaching the first stop he has devoured all five. Pausing, he notices me, horrified, staring at him.

"Would you like the rest?" he says to me as I'm taken out of my shock. I suddenly have a flash back to being told as a child to never except candy from a stranger. Which always reminds me of the Green Day music video for the song "Warning".

"No thank you." I stutter back at him. I'm always uncomfortable and awkward when people talk to me on the train.

"I don't care for them much," he lies as if to pretend he didn't just stuff his wrinkled face. "They'll just spill in my bag." he says to himself. I Ignore him and go back to looking out the window. I suspect he'll be getting off at the VA, just a few short stops ahead.

At 28th Street a TSA employee on his way to work sits down in the bench in front of me. He's old and smells old. I sink into my seat. His greasy hair is held down by a navy blue hat. Springsteen blasts in his ear buds. He must be hard of hearing. I quietly hold my breath until he gets off at the Lindbergh Terminal.

I'm on my way home from another night of work at the aquarium in the basement of the Mall of America. I take the train for 34 minutes to the Metrodome where my bike is still parked. It used to be I would where headphones on this train to drown out the noise of strangers. Lately, I either sleep or people-watch. Sleeping on the way home has it's downsides. Every now and then I am woken up by either another rider or the transit police. They always think I'm going to miss my stop. Only once have slept all the way into downtown.

The gulf war vet has now been replaced by suburban dude dressed in all black heading into the city. He sports his new black jeans, still pressed from being folded on the shelf, new Nike high-tops and an obnoxiously large watch. He's practically yelling into his cell phone. Makes me want to take out my phone and respond to him like we're having a conversation. We both get off at the edge of downtown.

As I walk onto the platform large snow fakes fall to the ground. Tomorrow is the first day of December and this may be my last ride on my road bike for the season. While wiping the snow off the seat, I check the tires. They're low from the change in temperature today. The batteries in my head light are dead. It must have been blinking all day in my bag. "Great", I pull my red had down on my face so it touches my eye lashes to keep the snow out of my eyes. I pull my keys out and quickly detach my U-lock as the southbound train passes.

I ride swiftly on the street. There are few cars out tonight. The snow is coming at me like a ton of frozen mosquitoes. I need to remember to get goggles this year. Across the stone arch bridge the snow is already beginning to stick to the ground. I peddle faster up the hill and pause only for a moment at the stop light next to Santana's. The last block to my apartment is a one-way street so I take on the sidewalk. The light above my building's door is also out and I fumble in the dark to find my keys. Up the stairs I take my bike to my third floor apartment. When I open the door, my cat sits patiently and gives me a quick wink. Hannah is asleep on the couch. She opens her eyes slightly and smiles as I put my bike away. I am finally home.