I Wrote Something
The Virgin Commuter
Wake up to walls, winding walks -- a whole world of concrete. An early morning arrival. You rub the sleep out of your eyes as you try to pry your body from the seat after finding that skin and plastic have become one. “Make sure you gather all of your personal belongings and watch your step on the way out.” But they don’t warn you of what you will soon be immersed in: a crowd so thick you feel that if you didn’t keep a tight, quick grip, your very own soul would be lost forever, hopping another line to the Square and saying “GOOD RIDDANCE!” just as you reach the sliding doors.
A stranger to this world, you feel intoxicated as blurs of colors and sound pass through you, leaving you dumbfounded and wanting moremoremore. You look around trying to get an idea of where you are and where you should be heading, but in each direction you see the exact same thing: people, ads, people, stores, people, escalators, people, signs, people, stairs… You are lost. You search for a friendly face to point you in the right direction, but all you get are pushes and shoves from the most unfriendly people you’ve ever imagined. Plus this guy’s bugging you for spare change. And this one’s calling to you about his high quality hats for low quality prices (but he seems a bit confused).
Amid this constant search of insanity, you find not a smiling face, but a hard, cold, plastic sign which works just as well - what a sad, sad world. You’re on your way through a maze of arrows: u p u p d o w n d o w n r i g ht leftright s t o p! T a k e a b r e a t h. For a moment you forget that you are underground, so you are surprised when the air that fills your lungs is not fresh or refreshing, but hot and oppressive. It is best to just move on with the signs as your guides.
You travel down tunnels where the ethereal echoing of the dark, rich voice singing “Goodbye Ruby Tuesday” bounces off the walls like an Olympic table tennis ball traveling faster than you can walk. The only colors are taking their last dying breath like your nose wishes it was doing when the only smell for miles around is the epitome of ugly. After walking for years, your legs turned to Jell-O, having long before accused those signs of lies, you finally find the platform for the “ONE.”
Luckily, it arrives at the right time so that you can arrive at the time that you need to. 50 - 59 - 66 - 72. up Up UP as the stations blur by and the people at the stations blur by, whose faces turn to strange shapes as they are distorted by their surroundings - a mess of nose, colors, eyes, words, mouth, symbols. Feeling, once again, high off the Apple, you almost miss your stop (and almost wish you did), but get off at 116th - COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY. Ah, fresh air.
Wake up to walls, winding walks -- a whole world of concrete. An early morning arrival. You rub the sleep out of your eyes as you try to pry your body from the seat after finding that skin and plastic have become one. “Make sure you gather all of your personal belongings and watch your step on the way out.” But they don’t warn you of what you will soon be immersed in: a crowd so thick you feel that if you didn’t keep a tight, quick grip, your very own soul would be lost forever, hopping another line to the Square and saying “GOOD RIDDANCE!” just as you reach the sliding doors.
A stranger to this world, you feel intoxicated as blurs of colors and sound pass through you, leaving you dumbfounded and wanting moremoremore. You look around trying to get an idea of where you are and where you should be heading, but in each direction you see the exact same thing: people, ads, people, stores, people, escalators, people, signs, people, stairs… You are lost. You search for a friendly face to point you in the right direction, but all you get are pushes and shoves from the most unfriendly people you’ve ever imagined. Plus this guy’s bugging you for spare change. And this one’s calling to you about his high quality hats for low quality prices (but he seems a bit confused).
Amid this constant search of insanity, you find not a smiling face, but a hard, cold, plastic sign which works just as well - what a sad, sad world. You’re on your way through a maze of arrows: u p u p d o w n d o w n r i g ht leftright s t o p! T a k e a b r e a t h. For a moment you forget that you are underground, so you are surprised when the air that fills your lungs is not fresh or refreshing, but hot and oppressive. It is best to just move on with the signs as your guides.
You travel down tunnels where the ethereal echoing of the dark, rich voice singing “Goodbye Ruby Tuesday” bounces off the walls like an Olympic table tennis ball traveling faster than you can walk. The only colors are taking their last dying breath like your nose wishes it was doing when the only smell for miles around is the epitome of ugly. After walking for years, your legs turned to Jell-O, having long before accused those signs of lies, you finally find the platform for the “ONE.”
Luckily, it arrives at the right time so that you can arrive at the time that you need to. 50 - 59 - 66 - 72. up Up UP as the stations blur by and the people at the stations blur by, whose faces turn to strange shapes as they are distorted by their surroundings - a mess of nose, colors, eyes, words, mouth, symbols. Feeling, once again, high off the Apple, you almost miss your stop (and almost wish you did), but get off at 116th - COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY. Ah, fresh air.