They Are Millions by taylor-of-the-phunk, literature
They Are Millions
It's amazing, really, how you can spend so much time there, hours underground in transit, neither here nor there. You can sit by someone for an hour or a minute and never see them again, shuffled away in the leaf pile. Even if you take the same route same time you may never see them, certainly not recognize them, unless- no, that must be a different lady with purple-tinged braids.
And I realize that this small-town small-school girl has likely never seen so many people in her whole life put together.
A family of German tourists, a horde of French schoolchildren, ladies of many nationalities in as many kinds of headwear. The clean-cut City m
Reflections on the Metro by taylor-of-the-phunk, literature
Reflections on the Metro
The population of the Metro car is sparse at eleven in the morning; people talk. The mother with her baby and young son, talking to her friend or sister or cousin sitting down. The young man and woman speaking exuberant Chinese, a language like a song. The group of students in floral dresses and Converse that my mom says look European because of their scarves. They're rapidly spewing French in the way teenagers do, only I've only ever heard it in English. It's comfortable, each of us with our companions, more like a restaurant or a museum.
But at five thirty, at L'Enfant Plaza, when people are going home from work in their button-downs and s