As the subway moved away from sunset, passengers sitting in their seats stare at their phones. With each passing stop, people are told they must leave – an eviction notice by surveillance commentary. “Why did you hurt her?” is the question posed by surveillance. “I don’t know,” is the answer most of the time. The train speeds up as it heads for the last stop located in North Hollywood and the white lights flicker overhead, moving faster and faster, blurring.
Upon reaching the end station and going up two escalators, I can see outside a neighborhood still subdued, almost sleepy. A homeless man, sitting on a side street, offers a suggestion to use my phone as a map when I asked if there was a VONs closeby. Wouldn’t a local be better? Maybe he was just an actor.
Waiting for the J line to go home, the atmosphere at union station doesn’t match the row of romantic trains waiting to head east. Instead of $1.75, we could upgrade for $800 dollars and take a two day trip east. Wouldn’t that be romantic surveillance?
Outside, the chilly smog hung in the air, obscuring the sun and casting a gray tone over the city. As I watch the stops go by, I carry with me the echoes of a day created by travel, a memory journey for July 22.