by Matt Dischner
The air was dense with human acridity,
a humidity reinforced by an excess
of scarves, puffer jackets, and exhalation.
Leaving 77th the lights gasped
and died, the train lit only
by stars fixed to the subway walls
punctuated by the jolting
irregularities in the track
and the wails of Robert Plant
wafting from a young man’s headphones.