This man was bent down
over the granite paving
at the foot of the office building,
his face a few inches from
the seams between the blocks.
And he was quietly screaming
some agitated gibberish
at whatever he was
privately seeing
in the black and white
speckles of the stone.
I had the sense
that they were talking back.
The police have been
standing near the fare gates
of the BART stations lately,
apparently to discourage
fare evaders.
On the train to Antioch,
at the far end of the car,
a big African American woman
was singing gospel badly
and testifying loudly
into a cell phone
held near her ear.
I had the sense
that there was no one
on the other end of that call.
At my end of the car,
a very pale and skinny dude
in sports gear spread
a small quilted pad
on the floor, sat down
and did his yoga
as we hurtled under the bay.
When we emerged into
the East Bay sunshine,
he rolled up his little pad,
put his foot up on
the bar next to the door
to stretch his leg.
The gospel lady and the yoga dude
didn't exit at the 12th & Broadway
station, everyone who did
grabbed a quick look at them
as we exited the train.
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