I’d like to think I still have more of a sense of whimsy than the average daily-commuting New Yorker. I still revel in the little things, despite my impatience with late trains and stereotypical addiction to coffee. I love when two trains running in the same direction run next to each other in a tunnel. The way the tracks fuse together in a Y-shape causes the other train to glide towards mine, and it always reminds me of a cheesy movie metaphor for a dream or a memory coming into the character’s head.
Out of the darkness suddenly appear flickering images into other people’s lives. The push and pull of one train pulling ahead, then falling back, then repeating again is like the character trying to hold on to the metaphorical dream. Then suddenly one train sails out of sight as the other slows, and our character has, in one way or another, lost hold of his thought. Perhaps he is lulled back to sleep on the gently rocking subway in a once again dark tunnel, or maybe he’s suddenly awoken by the bright lights of a station. Either way, those snapshots into another world, be they dreams or ideas or memories, have dissolved.
This is where my mind wanders on the subway.
2 comments:
Great cover on the New Yorker about 2 years ago. Two subway cars sitting in the station- waiting to go opposite ways. Boy in one girl in the other - both reading the same book - quickly attracted to each other - then woosh off in separate directions - never to see each other.
Great cover on the New Yorker about 2 years ago. Two subway cars sitting in the station- waiting to go opposite ways. Boy in one girl in the other - both reading the same book - quickly attracted to each other - then woosh off in separate directions - never to see each other.
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