If you stand long enough waiting for the New York City subway, life comes alive around you while your thoughts drown out the ordinary sounds of city life. What comes to life by pure chance, by accident, by being in the perfect place at the right time while you're lost in your own world is magical. You begin to stand in awe at the ebb and flow of humanity blooming in the grimy subway tunnels.
You see it all in the matter of a train ride.
You see the rush of bodies, the mother holding her child's hand as they rush toward closing doors, a brave soul sliding their umbrella out in time to gain last-minute access to two weary spirits, and a long grateful sigh of relief. There’s the merriment of music playing from some unknown location in the system of tunnels and the toe taps of fellow passengers getting into the music. The soft chatter of tourists in foreign tongues as they stand around with hands in their pockets decked out in I Love NYC gear. Then there's the tired mother with her three children peddling candy to the hostages of public transit, who busy themselves by looking the other way and dodging the child's sad, full eyes begging for a dollar while the kid's mother has yet another young one strapped to her back. A weariness drags her down, similar to the homeless man lying down against the back wall, covered in today's news. Surrounded by chatty teenagers gripping shopping bags and cellphones, like half of the platform inhabitants aren’t just fighting to live day by day, being sealed tight in the tomb of chance that brought lost souls to this very meeting point. Until they meet again, or not, dancing to the stampede of worn soles slapping against tiles that had seen better days to other platforms, to trains, or to the steps leading to fresh air above as life inevitably moves forward, with or without you.
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