I start playing Elevate,
specifically the “Processing” game,
where words fall ever faster from the sky
and you try to train your brain to keep up.
Across from me, a man,
doubled over, opens his hand.
Pills of every color lie nestled within.
As if in a stupor, he nudges them,
gently, with his forefinger.
Then, with slow and deliberate movements,
he picks up a fallen white capsule.
Placing it amongst its brethren,
he tightens his fist around the pills once more,
bringing them close to his chest.
His head sags down,
Suddenly, the train bursts
into afternoon sunlight
as we cross a bridge,
the Charles sparkling below.
I look at my hand,
my phone still reads