This bustling metropolitan area requires it; accomplishing day to
day tasks demands it.  We sit with complete and total strangers,
sharing space, breathe, and warmth…or cold.

I inhale what he exhaled, with more oxygen than he let out, retaining
some for myself before releasing some of both our exhalation, to yet a third set of
lungs. Walking as one forward-moving unit on sidewalks, stopped at the
same corner with only brief glances around before moving, all
together, again, in the same direction.  Suddenly we all turn right,
filing past cold metal toothed turnstiles, hurdling down steps and
moving escalators to a waiting cement platform below.  There we will
stand together again, breathing the same stale underground air mixed
with exhaust fumes and lingering rain – underground water in
subterranean, metal encased swamps.

Dust and microbits of grey steel and shards of the city fly past us unseen,
sticking to our clothes, our faces, and soon to our souls after year upon
year of exposure. Tons of iron and steel, hurtle toward us in front and behind,
and clouds of soulless screeching envelop everyone in 30 seconds of the
tornado’s breeze.  We step forward together, boarding the beasts that
deafened us only moments before.  Shoulder to shoulder, parcels
clamoring for space at our sides, children shuffled into the chaotic
fold while gasping for air at an adult’s waist level.

And we breathe together again.  Dust, metal, oxygen, CO2, sweat, tears,
last night’s alcohol, this morning’s unwashed sex, tonight’s pre-seasoned dinner,
years of curried meats.  Foul, unsanitary, raunchy and familiar at
once. We look not left, nor right, but somewhere appropriately vague –
ahead – but at no one.  Direct eye contact is avoided at all costs,
lest the fetid stench that hangs in the station air be faced by an
owner, outed by a neighbor, assigned ownership incorrectly, or more
frighteningly, correctly.  Holding tightly to the poles, there is
still no speech as we are jostled and thrown about. The beast bucks
wildly against twisted tracks below; iron and steel scrape in whining
battle cries that assault tired ears.  It rounds bends halfway between
an aerodynamic hug and the urge to wildly break free of the trappings
and switches in a sideways roll.

Finally the doors open and the masses scamper out, racing toward sidewalk
level where daylight and fresher air await the overrun lungs that have counted
every stop en route…twice.

Daylight – freedom from the grey anger and stench below.

(c) 2009 // All Rights Reserved.