BART stands for Bay Area Rapid Transit

2019 came back to me in a Snapchat memory. It reeked like BART on a Friday night, all vomit and trash and grimace. We’re all going somewhere important; next year, they’ll tell us to stay home and drown in liquor. Before the pandemic, I counted down the minutes until my train was coming. But it only took us away from each other. I don’t reminisce often. But I can still smell the vomit. I can see her walking away, after telling me a secret. BART continued on. In 2020, it was forbidden, a vice to want movement. Who carries us?