Where Were You, My Cast?

During my walk from train station to work this morning, I noted that some of my favorite dramatis personae had been excised from the passenger list:

Woman, 50, short, bespectacled chatterbox with pan-American accent that seems to fluctuate between Columbian? Cuban? Haitian? Jamaican? Trentonian? (but I do know that the second she enters the train, she never stops yammering…her vague accent reverberates down the street after we disembark).

Woman, mid-20’s, tall, Elven, punky smoker with Amalie-cut black hair, pale skin, little nose, long legs (I usually follow her to Dunkin Donuts, where I duck in as she continues west).

Man, 30, gaunt, lanky, stick-shouldered, multiple man-bag laden speedster with crew-cut brown hair, large ears, long legs (marveling at his warp speed walk, I once attempted to match his gait…eventually I tired and resumed impulse speed.

Woman, 50, tall, regal, African American with a calm smile and quiet speaking voice that resounds reason (often, she is the sounding board for the pan-American chatterbox).