As I stood at the edge of the platform, the train's whistle shrilled out a dissonant note that shattered the afternoon calm. It was a small, almost imperceptible tremor, yet it sent a shiver through me. I watched as the train disappeared into the tunnel, leaving behind a faint trail of diesel smoke that carried with it the whispers of all the places I'd meant to visit. My grandmother's luggage label, a faded yellow rectangle with a cartoonish map of the world, poked out of my pocket, the faded creases a reminder of her own travel misadventures. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and stepped forward, letting the city's rhythms guide me.
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