the Q train on the manhattan bridge

Evening subway rides home are usually somber and quiet. The noisy after-school crowds are typically long since home and the rest of us working schmoes slump in our seats or hang from our poles in exhausted silence--centimeters from each other, yet lonely souls apart. Only the Q train's stretch over the Manhattan Bridge brings a touch of humanity to the sober voyage with a dose of sunlight or a view of the Brooklyn Bridge twinkling against the harbor and the financial district. Riders quietly turn toward the light of the windows like houseplants toward the sun, if only for a few minutes of quiet solace.

The other evening something different happened. From one end of the train car to the other, as the Q rose above the East River, cell phones emerged and one phone conversation after another began.

"Where are you?" They each started with a greeting no one would have used ten years ago. ("You called me at my work number, where else would I be?" would have been the reply before cell phones.) By mid bridge, the normally silent car was full of animated voices sharing commute status, work anecdotes, shopping lists and sundry other topics--one-sided conversations that told entire stories while the train rattled on through the air. Then one-by-one the voices slowly faded and shut down as the train descended at the other side of the bridge and the riders returned to their solitary silence.