The light rail descended underground, like the subway terminal in the movies I've seen, the scenes that are either incredibly romantic or everyday down-to-earth, quite literally. It was like traveling in a Star Wars themed Disneyland ride, watching the transit section in front of ours move mysteriously while we felt almost nothing, even though I knew we were going fast. The new experience gave me a burst of energy, which started my knee off bouncing and my head looking out all the windows at once. I clasped my older brother's arm in excitement, studying the line of stops above the doors, and then just like that-we were there. Never having been on public transportation, except for a trolley on a California trip, I was astonished. No one was ever so ecstatic about going on a light rail. I liked it so much, it made me wish I was a city girl-but I knew the city had plenty of dangers too, especially for a girl my age. But that day, I was with my father, who I knew would never let anything happen to me or my brothers. I found it very amusing how all the frowning or quiet or blank-faced people on their way around town bounced in unison on the ride. The multiple light rails reminded me of worms wiggling through their paths underground. We exited, and I admired how the doors opened so perfectly, how the people moved like ocean currents. The empty terminal landing felt unfriendly and yet cool at the same time. As we rode the escalator up, we looked down and saw RATS underneath our feet, in spray paint. 

The day went by in adventure mode. We had a 2023 shiny penny, our lucky coin, that led us places. We'd say, "time to consult the lucky penny!" This way for heads, that way for tails, and the universe would lead us to where we were supposed to go. We moved all around downtown, by foot or the light rail, and though I'm introspective and not super social, I loved people-watching. While everyone else looked around at the stores or signs or talked to each other, I looked at their faces. Everyone had some place they were going, somewhere they were from, and a reason they were there at that exact time. But I didn't know them, and I'd never know their reasons.

We met so many characters along the way, but I'll just name a few. At the city market, a tourist attraction, there was a friendly couple who we shared a sea-view table with, who had recently moved to California from Texas, and decided to come up the coast to visit a city they'd never been to before on the holiday weekend. They told us about the chef-led tour they took of good food destinations, a barbecue restaurant and gelato shop us locals hadn't even heard about. A talkative woman with a service dog named Princess Candy who we saw while buying lunch in the marketplace. On the sidewalk across the street, we witnessed a man pick something up out of the road and hand it to the woman who'd dropped it out of her wallet. We met a smart college dropout who told us about the technicalities of lightning, who now worked for the public transit. There was a DJ who sat outside his thrift store rocking the street with good music. I saw another cute couple nodding their heads to music from airpods, one for each, and smiling at each other, on the light rail on our way home.

I felt so fulfilled when I got home, because the city can really teach you a lot. Like how there's negativity in the world, like the graffiti everywhere or the homeless people. But lots of optimism to counter it, also, like the random acts of kindness or artistry or amiable people who want to help each other, even if they don't know others. The connection that all the strangers had, wherever they were from and whoever they may be, just from sharing an exploration of the city, together.