The nights always seemed to have captured my thoughts and attention more easily as the orange line trolley would warily speed off into the far distance. After a hard day’s work, washing filthy cars at my job in Chula Vista, all I could think about was getting home. But like clockwork, I ran after my flawless looking cherry red means of transportation as the trolley eluded me once again, leaving me out of breath and watching the electrical flashes spark from its flimsy antennas. Feeling abandoned and betrayed, I glanced at the worn down sign nearby as it read in white letters ‘Lemon Grove Depot’.  It was the busier trolley station in Lemon Grove as people would hurriedly challenge its punctuality and dare the risk of missing the d*mn trolley again. Suddenly in the still of the night, I began to reminisce of all the countless times I’ve spent waiting here with no intent of remembering a single detail of this seemingly meaningless piece of societies puzzle. Tonight was different though, as I began to recognize its importance to my life and the life of many other people who struggle constantly. Although the trolley station may give a sense of pity and somewhat vulnerability, I see it as a true symbol of diversity, hard work and dedication.

The uncomfortable and leafy green bench didn’t contribute much to the aide of my misfortune, but did provide me with a sense of security as I took the time to absorb the intriguing yet gloomy scenery into my gullible mind. The yellowish streetlights with its intended purpose of brightening the starless night seemed to only add more distress to the already depressing surroundings. The Hollywood sing across the street didn’t help much either as the ‘W’ flashed simultaneously, managing to mesmerize and shake up my thought process. It was almost as if I was stuck in a trance, staring at what resembled the street signs in vintage 1940’s Times Square, New York City. Lighting up the gray and gum ridden concrete, the grimy floor seemed to be sprawling all around me, and left me wondering if the flaking yellow cautionary paint at the edge of the tracks has been painted in the last twenty years. Even an incompetent fool could easily see that this trolley station lacks the necessary maintenance to provide a friendly environment. But it’s also easy to see that there doesn’t seem to be any intentions of changing its current run down status.