Getting from Point A to Point B

Everyday I take what is known as an “express” train to work. I put express in quotes because for some mysterious reason this train moves remarkably slowly. When I commute in from Queens I take two local trains for a greater distance and get to work faster. I am not sure if there is some sort of time warp between Brooklyn and Manhattan or if this train is just prone to: more suspicious packages, more sickness, more police investigations, or anything else your imagination can conjure up. Boy howdy, I can’t wait for the Republican Convention to cause even more creative delays.
The train makes me think of a large serpent lurching its way through the streets and tunnels of New York, inhaling and exhaling people through the gills that run the length of its silvery body. On my way into work it gradually inhales more and more people until it is full to capacity and then all the sudden when we cross that magic bridge into Manhattan it quits holding its breath and quickly exhales so that people spill out of its gills.
When I’m dumped out in Chinatown I’m in a world very different from the one I left. I hear high pitched fluted music coming from the park. As I walk past there are scores of people of all ages practicing dance, Tai Chi, swords and fans. They all sway and move in slow motion to the rising and falling sounds of the chimes and flutes coming from speakers I am yet to locate. Past the park I walk through the streets, past delivery trucks carrying all kinds of wares. The other day I saw two men carrying dead pigs over their shoulders.
In Brooklyn I walk down a row of auto mechanic shops that are lively in the morning and closed when I come home in the evening. But in the midst of all the garages is a church that is always open. No matter what time I walk by I can see people in front the altar praying. It is an Orthodox church with a beautiful Icon painting of Jesus in front of it. The gilded depiction always catches my attention and reminds me of my purpose for the day. On some evenings the church doors are open and I can smell the incense wafting outside. It is as if I can smell the prayers of the people. The very presence of this church ministers to me at the opening and closing of every day.