Inklings 2025

He sometimes overhears his wife whispering into the phone. I don’t know how to tell him, but it’s all become way too much. On the other side of the train car sits an older man in his 60s, whose face is half covered from my view by a wide grab rail. He is dressed to the nines in a brown plaid suit and deep maroon tie. Straight out of the 70s. He lies asleep. Clutching his vintage briefcase. Afraid to let go. The outfit is a statement. Someone who has lived through the changes of history, and still holds onto the grandeur of the past. His careful grooming stands in contrast with the rest of us. Maybe his plaid suit is a little too bold for this hour. Maybe his hair contains a little too much gel for this new century. There’s sadness in him. He tries to hold on to the man he once was, even as the world shifts around him. Is he going home? Getting an early start to work? Answering an emergency call? Wherever he’s heading to is somewhere strange to him. Just another place in a city that no longer feels like it used to. As I observe, the train comes to a sharp stop. Jolting the old man awake. He softens his hold on the briefcase and adjusts his jacket. He sits up straight. We have now stopped at 57 St. The door will remain open for 1 minute. My stop. Finally. As I stand in front of the closing doors, I watch my fellow travelers. The girl takes a moment to scratch her chin. Her hand moving and revealing the book she was immersed in. General Organic Chemistry. Not a notable literary great after all. The fisherman adjusts his cooler, making sure it doesn’t slide during the ride. I glimpse his left hand and notice a wedding band. He pauses for a second, then gently rubs the band with his thumb. A soft smile tugs at his lips, as though he’s already picturing a warm reunion with his family. I glance back at the old man one final time. There is still an aura Eye Roll Olivia Karp ’27 43