Stop. 'Doors closing'�.'� Move. 'Next stop is'�'�

I was groggy that morning. As I sat, cross-legged, and squeezed between the grimy window and a man with an off-centered tie, and an over-large briefcase, I slipped in and out of consciousness, startled by his vicious cough.

Stop. 'Doors closing'�'� Move. 'Next stop is'�'�

I tried to read my book to pass the time. Ten minutes later, I lingered over the same page. Gloomy, impatient and exhausted, I gave up and slammed the book shut. The man next to me snorted and hacked, his briefcase constantly prodding at my side.

The emergency door opens and closes. Everyone looks up at the newcomer, an elderly man with dark skin and a wide grin. I look at his shoes ' shiny enough for me to glimpse my own reflection. His pants are heavy, beige and navy blue plaid. In July. He wears a collared shirt in bright, pale yellow. His face is bright and hopeful, yet poorly shaven. His dreadlocks are obviously dirty ' but when do they ever look clean? He wanders in at an unsteady pace as the train rocks and churns. His eyes meet mine, and he leans towards me.

'Seven good things gonna happen to ye today, miss!'� That grin widens and he straightens. 'Seven things gonna happen to all of ye today!'� He waves an envelope in front of my face, beckoning me to take it. 'I'm a gonna give ye an envelope. It's not for sale, but I'm a gonna give it to ye. Keep it, write yer name on it. Write the names of yer family, yer friends, yer loved ones ' and seven good things gonna come yer way!'�

I didn't take the envelope. Neither did anyone else when offered. Unhindered and determined, he made his way to the next car.

Stop. 'Doors closing'�'� Move. 'Next stop is'�'�

I smiled.

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