“Why is it so damn cold?” I hear myself muttering. The morning cold feels like it has inserted itself into my bones. I chose high heels to make myself appear taller, thinner and more in charge. Already my shoes are exacting revenge on my protesting toes. My campaign manager, Alden Ritter and aide, Rachel Posen hold blue signs pleading “Re-elect Lyris Fein.” We target sleep-–deprived commuters.
They flow down the platform demonstrating little interest in us. I am just another candidate in a forest. I bestow my practiced smile on them. Alden or Rachel thrust a glossy flyer in their hands, the one with a family photo and my bio. Some brush past but most accept it without looking directly at me. A few shake my benumbed hand. After giving the flyer a cursory look, many then deftly dispose of it in the trash bin. I know that before the last train car exits the station, Rachel will be bin diving to the retrieve any spared the soil of a splashed coffee. We do recycle. It is part of our ritual. Well, the 8:11 has come and gone. The three of us rush back to the hulking Ford Expedition rented for the duration.
