This is Atlantic Avenue Barclays Center, transfer is available to the 2, 3, 4, 5, B, Q, D, and R trains. Connection is available to the Long Island Railroad. I get off the N train, planning to transfer to the 2 or the 3 to finish my morning commute. The first step I take out of the subway car feels like getting some fresh air after being stuck in an endless, humid rainforest of nauseating body odor and cheap perfume. I turn towards the stairs, brushing past the Mexican woman selling treats to make even the slightest bit of money. As I walk by, she looks at me hopelessly and says, “Shocolats, one dolla, shocolats.” “Sorry, I don’t have any money on me.” I reply. A lie. I walk up the stairs but trip on the 7th step. Since the beginning …show more content…
The only time I can remember (somewhat) doing so was when I was waiting in the underpass to meet up with my friend. He lived farther from the station, which he simply calls “Atlantic.” He technically isn’t wrong, since it used to be called just “Atlantic Avenue” until a publicity-chasing company bought the naming rights in 2009 and added the “Barclays Center” because of the arena coming nearby the station. As I waited, I picked up on little details I had never noticed before; the black dots on the floor that mark the area where someone, either 5 days ago or 5 years ago, spit out a piece of gum that has been a dirt magnet ever since; the layers of filth that have made their home on the walls as a result of low maintenance and too much human traffic; the difference in the individuals that walk by, how each and every single one of them lives a life that is completely different from the