9
The yellow line took me uptown a few blocks, away from the land of brownstones into the commercial district.
As I stepped off the train and onto the bustling platform, I let myself flow with the mass of people crowding off the train. The perfume, smelly armpits, pastrami sandwiches, and other untold odors pooled around me. From the smell of it, there were definitely some shifters in the crowd. The animal stank had a way of sticking to their skin.
I passed a lone musician in a leather jacket playing a zebra-striped saxophone. A bass guitar hovered next to him, its strings twanging. A PVC pipe banged on a bucket by its own accord.
The bitter wind blew as I made my way down the long, angular platform steps and onto the street.
The city opened up before me, tall buildings of brick, glas
