notes from the Friday afternoon commute

My office closes early on Friday afternoons in the summer.
It's an old-school policy designed, I'm sure, to allow employees to beat the traffic to their summer homes. My summer and winter home are one-in-the-same so I ran some errands and headed to the train at 2:00.
And what did I see at the station at that hour?
Luggage.









(An awful lot of Vera Bradley, don't you think?)





The lady in blue had sterling silver hair.



This little fellow was going to a baseball game with his grandmother.



This tiny girl needed a map.

This man



did not appear nearly as sinister in real life.



This woman was stunningly beautiful.



There were some backpackers around too.

So - there we all were. Waiting.



Hundreds of people, with more streaming in at every glance, waiting.



Everyone stands near the big board and watches for the sign to change - for the track to be assigned...



(meanwhile, some of us take furtive photos of glorious taffeta skirts)

and then, all at once,



the trains are announced and the giant crowd moves in groups to the exits - to the platforms to board the trains.



It's a blur of rushed movement, and the weekend has nearly started.