Central Station, 6 A:M.

Central Station at 6 in the morning is a strange place. A real cross-section of the world, a bleak mini-habitat. Organisms come and go with the closest thing to human interaction a coffee order or a pathetic plea for money. Each creature starring blankly, each of them just as pissed off about being up so early in the morning.
A rare kind of thing where homeless youths can rattle on escalators with upper-class snobs, the angry kids can mix with the bitter jet-setters, clearly embarrassed and ashamed to be riding the same train as the peasants.
You can get a true sense of strong character in this setting; whether positive or negative. If someone approaches you or offers you the slightest kind gesture, you can be reasonably sure they are a somewhat decent human being in the better of times.
An attractive older woman with knee-high boots, skin-tight jeans and large, loopy bangles hanging from each wrist made a move toward me as I was smoking a cigarette. Since she was already smoking herself, I figured she must be chasing money. I shot my usual reluctant looks;l.
As she got near, however, she held out a partly emptied packet of cigarettes.
"There's a few smokes left in there" she said " I am quitting after this one".
Her look said it all:
"If you think I am kind at 6, you should see me at 9".
There is something grimly peaceful about standing on the upper level outside area just off Eddy Ave. and looking out over this city, my city. As sleeping trains begin to stir and rail staff smoke frantically before the days rush. The dull early morning greys begin to fade as the blue and yellow takes over. You can see the bright beams of sunshine penetrating the untouched gaps in the horizon.
But the thing all Centrals animals have in common, not surprisingly; they are all traveling. Everyone is on the move.