Bubbles

Just now, as I am sitting on Bart, there is a girl blowing bubbles sitting behind me. I was alerted to this strange action by a woman a few seats in front of me laughing loudly. That laughter has now extended to the whole car. An entire train car full of people laughing at bubbles, speeding through space, leaving a trail of glossy hiccups of sound behind us. There is a woman across the aisle from me who has a bubble perched atop the fringe of her bangs. It catches the light in a kaleidoscope of pastels. She seems to be unaware of it. The woman in front of me has one on the back of her head that is fluttering in some small breeze that is sneaking into the car like muffled voices whispering through the walls. It looks like how I imagine the heart of a hummingbird to look, as delicate as a dream. And everyone is still laughing. We are all affected by these tiny, gossamer orbs of joy. And the train moves on.

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