Yesterday morning while I was waiting for my train to pull in, I saw a car catch fire on the side of 580. First it started with plumes of smoke rising from the hood, light grey then deep charcoal, taller and faster. A small fire under the car on the pavement, and in a few more minutes the plumes raged overhead shifting to a dirty rust color as they fattened, eventually filling the freeway. I don’t know much about car mechanics or science but I could tell something was going to happen.

The people around me took out their camera phones and hesitated to get on the train–they wanted to linger and witness the detonation. It made me feel sick in a way, imagining their morning Instagram pictures. Their stupid caption, “really sucks to be this guy” [hashtag] #toughmorningcommute.

No shit, asshole! Their crappy car was probably all they had.

Anyways, I jumped on the train, and didn’t look back. I hoped the best for the driver, never having seen one, and wished everyone safe.

And really wished I’d seen something like this in place of it all:

(I do live in Oakland, so you never know.)

In fact, on Thursday in SF, the door to my train never opened underground so we were forced to run quickly to the next car. Once over the Bay in a scary part of Oakland, a gang jumped on with flashy gold necklaces, hardened faces and bandanas. They walked with malevolence. The leader yelled for our attention, and my pulse quickened. Any second they’d pull their guns. This was it.

“Ladies and gentleman,” he said, as the crew spread out in their posts.

Will I see Milo again? His face flashed in front of me.

“May I have your attention? Stay in your seats and don’t move. We are the Bay Area Street Dancers. About to bring you something positive.” One of them flipped on the ghettoblaster and another one began to pop-and-lock, using the overhead handles in his routine.

Thank my lucky f*cking stars. For everything. It took a couple of minutes for my heart to slow down. To realize I was safe. Then I was the one whipping out my camera phone, catching it all on video.

I guess the point of this is, the tables could be flipped at any time. We could be the ones in the hot seat. Or behind sliding doors. Any given day, it could all be taken from us. We should look out for one another, show a little respect, quit rubbernecking and recording it in vain. We should never take any moment for granted because at any second we could get jumped or jacked. It could be taken as easily as it was given.

And those are deep thoughts from a white suburban-esque mom in a gentrified hood.

– M (alive, sane [somewhat] and certainly grateful)