Silver-sided rattle, a humble streak climbing the hill in small doses. Blue teardrop seats, steel and yellow poles, broad-eyed windows that offer the view of things that the subway will never give.
I've seen fistfights, a baby born, overdoses, old women falling asleep, old men screaming wordlessly, junkies scrambling for pills dropped underfoot, tourists grappling with the geometry of this unknown language, all of it.
Vibrating with a menacing stumble, it attracts everyone. It promises a view and a destination. It's better to go through the world than to sink below it.