The platform that never was

I'm standing at the old tram stop on West 4th after midnight, the one they decommissioned in '97. The shelter's still there, but the timetable's blank. I'm not waiting for anything—just the feeling of having waited so long it becomes a kind of staying. The city's realness isn't in the trains that come, but in the ones that don't, and how we keep showing up anyway.