We took the train.
We took the train and talked up public transportation. We were authentic. Like the slow food that we raved about, like the everything else that we were convinced we knew better, that we were convinced mattered more, because we were not driving, not hydroplaning like they were, whomever they were. We did not know there was no ground beneath us, only water, underneath the city built on fault lines and landfills. On the train the ground was above us and more solid than ever. The dark would float up past our eyes and absorb the train car into rushing metallic tomb, screeching tornado around us in an uneasy comfort, a return to something trapped. We loved this part of the train ride, when waves lapped over our heads as the horrible sound blocked out all thought, the nervous shudder of the wheels on rails reminding us that we were liquid and organs under skin.