The Morning GO

At 6:40 the platform is a small country with its own customs. Thermoses are held like passports. Headphones mean do not disturb, and everyone honours them. People arrive from Oakville, Whitby, Milton, carrying whole other lives that the downtown towers will only see from nine to five. The train slides in, the doors open, and the quiet shuffle begins: window seats claimed, laptops unfolded, eyes closed for twenty precious minutes. Somewhere past the lake a quiet sunrise happens, unwatched by most. Still, the commute is a kind of shared patience, a daily agreement that the city is worth the trip.