Outside, the flourescent blue light shimmers on the night  Seine.

Ahead of me orange vinyl peels off the flesh of an empty seat.

Dim music comes from the headphones of someone's walkman two seats ahead.

Together the six of us are on a scheduled but imperfect machine.

Toward our own destinations.

Seconde classe

No smoking/ Defense de fumer

We are content and alone

Faith in the schedule, the plan, the route

We move in our passivity

To walk would mean something else

But I still take the train.

No time to move--breathe.

by LM