He stood in front of the Marta train doors, leaning forward in a pair of new looking, long jean shorts and a white t-shirt. His black hair was twisted and unruly, like each had a wish it was sending up to the heavens. He mumbled to himself once, adding curse words as if he was mad at the air.
The doors opened at the Civic Station. A woman with a gold band used to keep her hair off her face, stepped on the train. The man with the twists grumbled and cursed as he walked away from the door, rather than tumble or rush onto the plat form. He remained standing as he mumbled and cursed.
“Always taking my space,” the man with the twists said.
The woman didn’t notice the man with the twists. She stared at the water on the floor and the small puddle that gathered in a seat next to a gray haired man.
“A leak,” the gray haired man said. He looked up above him. She followed his gaze.
“Shouldn’t be,” the woman said as she looked at the floor again. When the train emerged from underground, the passengers could see that the rain momentarily stopped, though the sky was still gray and the air should still be cool when the passengers stepped outside.