Lucky not me, he thinks

as he turns up the aircon.

The fare gates are open,

but the trains are not.

Commuters streaming out.

He glances across —

Tourists wave

as he drives past,

one hand on the wheel.

Past the taxi stand,

past a sea

of lit up faces.

A hundred phones

held up like prayers.

 

Inside the taxi,

he wheezes, chokes,

then laughs

out loud.

 

What did he see?

An office worker

logging his Strava,

a pink cartoon folder

held between his armpits.

The door lock beeps,

light switch clicks.

His EZ-Link —

totally useless!

 

Oh, reception, finally!

What does he see?