A Ride on the Redline

It’s cold, icy and wet outside. I cannot really smell anything since my nose is stuffy and runny. The cold tends to do that to you. The wooden platform I stand on is no longer sturdy as it once was. It’s creaky and dull in color. Everything around me is mostly rusty from decades of ever changing weather. In the foreground there are crude columns being built because they’re building new tracks. It’s been like this for almost three years. To the far right I begin to hear rumbling. It’s getting closer and more thunderous with each passing second until finally it passes me with a swift motion coming to a screeching halt. I make my way to the nearest door and wait for the commuters to exit. They each rush out, sometimes three at a time. Everyone is coming or going. I hear the PA system announce,” Doors closing,” but I’m already inside. It’s crammed as it is most days and there are no seats available so I just hold on to a pole near by. I glance around and see the blank faces of the bodies around me. Hardly anyone is talking.

There are stops to go and luckily for me an old man, maybe in his seventies, gets up and rapidly makes his way towards the door, so I go and take the vacant seat he’s left behind. As I look around, I see some on their devices and some asleep. The man sitting next to me, wearing a red and white beanie, is revising something on some stapled pages. I gaze momentarily at what he is doing but it’s really none of my business so I just look away. There is something soothing about riding in this metallic tube. Here inside nothing matters. The rattling and swaying of the vehicle unwinds me. I almost doze off but I can’t because my stop is only a few away. Out the window everything looks so different. I know where I am but, from this point of view, the city looks so foreign to me. I don’t mind getting lost here and there.

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