literature

They Are Millions

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Literature Text

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 men and women, the inadvisable stilettos. The uniformed children, the men in paint-covered trousers. The ones you immediately hate for reasons inconsequential like they walked too slowly or stood in your way, and the of course the ones you fall in love with for their shoes or delicate mouth but who you could never, now, pick out of a crowd. The babies who will grow up with the city filling half their lungs. The oxfords, Chelsea boots, Mary-Janes, wingtips, the tartan scarves and swishy hourglass coats, the luggage, always the luggage. They may as well be the same people every day but they aren't, they are millions, and this city will swallow them up before your very eyes.
No, I don't think it's as good as the Metro one, but here's some Tube musings. 
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