Essay: No. 7

At Hunter’s Point, the No. 7 noses out of the East River tunnel, glimpsing Queens for the first time. Factories, then row houses, bodegas, 99 cent stores. Burnt red and 11 cars long. A wheeled zephyr throwing shadows along a street named for someone no one thinks about anymore.

Hillary Clinton, who’s never sat on the hard plastic seats, grasped the steel loops like a lifeline, swayed to the clack-clack of metal wheels on metal rails, dubbed the 7 a National Historic Trail. No less than the Oregon or the Chisholm. A path, this time, for Colombians, Greeks, Romanians, Koreans.

Paul Oh wishes his last name was shorter. You can find him in long form at @poh and dcomposing.com.

Photo credit: Skyco

One Response to “Essay: No. 7”

  1. Ruth Devlin says:

    Paul-your essay gave me images where I once had none. Where can I buy my ticket?

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  1. dComposing » trains - [...] Read more of my train rantings – this time about the No. 7 Flushing line – at 100wordstory.org. [...]

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