Lost Weekend by Jeff Nazzaro
The Green Line train was late, and when it finally came you had to squeeze in and hold your breath. At Harbor Freeway, only a couple of people got off, and then a morbidly obese man wedged himself on, turning in the doorway and telling the few people remaining on the platform, “There’s another train two minutes behind this one: just wait.” The doors closed in their faces. The train rolled west, then the operator announced, “Due to police activity, this train will not be stopping at Vermont/Athens Station. The next stop for this train will be Crenshaw Station.” A man pulled out his earbuds and said, “Huh?” I told him. He said, “I’m going all the way to the end—Redondo Beach.” “Doesn’t matter then,” I said. He put his earbuds back in. A woman saw us talking. She pulled her earbuds out and said, “What?” I told her, too. She wasn’t getting off at Vermont, either. When the train slowed through Vermont/Athens Station, everyone looked out the platform-side windows. Uniformed...
