It’s loud. Too loud. Babies crying for mother’s milk, homeboys asking for a dollar, a quarter, spare change. Wanting to use your cellphone to call their boy, or, baby’s momma.

Busses going in and out. Air brakes applied. The constant hum of engines and honking horns. A voice over the p.a. telling folks to go to their bus. No loitering.

And music is played way too loud; coming through a tinny phone speaker. Grown men rapping to songs about being a gangster, a thug, some stud kicking in the stalls. All night long.

The toilets are overflowing. Smells of piss and shit crawl through the air. Some guy kicking the pop machine. Wearing a wool hat in October; the leaves have yet to turn. He yells at himself. Over and over, he yells.

It’s loud. Too loud.

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