From August 2014 through March 2015 I rode a Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority train or bus to work five days a week.

I’d get on the Metro, as we call it, at West Falls Church. I’d get off at McPherson Square. I was surprised how little time it took for my body to get to know the route. I’d look up from my crossword puzzle and know — subconsciously, before I read the station sign — where I was.

East Falls Church. Ballston. Virginia Square. Clarendon. Courthouse. Rosslyn. Foggy Bottom. Farragut West. My stop.

And sometimes I knew which day of the week it was, too. On Thursdays I would be met at the top of the McPherson escalators by a Latino gentleman playing an electric ukulele.

I spent a lot of time waiting for trains. Sometimes I’d read. Sometimes I’d catch up on emails. Phone calls were a waste of time. A lot of the time, I’d pull my iPhone out of my pocket and fire up one of my favorite camera apps (Hipstamatic, Hueless, Mextures, Enlight) and see what I could see.