There Are No Bathrooms in Metro

We are riders, commuters-crazy. This is how we get from point A to B, daily; no matter what nor when.
Bundled up, laddened down with every imaginable bag, container, tote; going and coming at all hours, spanning great distances.

Dawn across a still sleeping city, the buzz of my phone echoes in the darkened house. Pulled up and out of a deep serious sleep; I become something I don't quite recognize, someone I don't want to transform into-a bus person. But, in the predawn morning that's exactly what I'm doing. Extra hours required to allow for dressing for the weather, packing, counting change, shear travel time. How many stops, arrivals?
You learn a few things. I've learned more than a few things. like how to cross a busy major street, which #70 before 6:30 AM will have seating; what time do i have to get to the station, red line, blue line, does it really matter? Does a 16 oz cup of coffee and a 45 minute bus ride make any sense? These tid bids and more wait to reveal themselves; through a barely yawning city in piles of humanity in various stages staggering by. Waiting, watching-hopeful for the blinking announcement for our final destination.