Who Am I: The Subway Essay 

Up at 7:30 a.m., I swapped pajamas for a polo and khakis and grabbed my bag, my phone and headphones. I ran upstairs, passing my dad who’d just come home, “Why are you still here?” No time to respond, I  closed the door behind me, hoping he’d lock it. I ran to Jamaica Avenue, passing the house on the corner with the dog poop on the lawn that never gets cleaned up. Hurrying under the train tracks, I passed the deli and local Spanish restaurants and removed my student MetroCard from my wallet, swiped it, and went through the turnstile. Hearing the train entering the station, I sprinted and entered the first car I could. 7:41 a.m. There had been no time to shower, brush my teeth, or eat breakfast.