The grime.
And the concrete.
And the ripped posters.
And the broken benches.
And the trash.

The 2 whizzes by
marveling in its own speed and grandeur.
It sends anything into the air.
Newspapers.
The bottom of coats.
Chip bags.
My hair.

It all floats down
and for a moment
silence.

And then the doors fly open.
Mind the gap.
Mind the stroller.
Mind the guy listening to his iPod and not paying attention.

And we are back to grime and dirt.

But for a moment,
with my hair blowing in the artificial wind.

I forgot.