Bursting with speed, you race out of the house. Knowing that you’re already running late, you sprint around aimlessly, while trying to map out the quickest way to get to the destination. Considering a cab, you remember the driving rain that’s soaking you and deduce that it would be impossible to find one. Option two would be the bus arriving across the street, but that would only take you five blocks away from where you need to be, plus you realize forgot your metro card. The rain freezing you, it is decided that the Subway is the only other way. Racing down the stairs and to the metro card machine, you see the “broken, do not use” sign posted. Alternatively, you turn to the machine beside it, only to discover that you’re out of bills, you resort to searching for any coins you can find. While doing so, a person behind you asks to ” quickly go ahead of you?”. You reply: “I really have to rush”. They say in a calloused tone that “everyone has places to be”, but you just clutch the bare minimum needed for a round trip pass, collect your card and race to your platform. Praying that your train is still there, you quickly run down more stairs, only to hear the loud screeches of the last subway car drain into the dark tunnel. Soaked and disappointed, you decide to check your cell phone messages, only to see that your event was cancelled twenty minutes ago.
January 23, 2009
Rain at Jay Street
The rain cascades into the subway station, puddling, dripping, filling, and invading the edges between commuters’ shoes. He trudges, boots soaked, towards the front of the train, where his chances of getting a seat are higher. Every station he exits on the platform and moves forward a car, rather than risking the wet metal walkway between cars. He glances at the advertisements of each passing car- the wrestlers with copyright names, the online colleges, and the “Energy Saving Tips.” Tip #67- Seal your windows with our QuickSeal™ Technology! Slipping on the wet floor, covered in coffee, water and piss, he knocks into a pole. An old Jewish man, adjusting his yarmulke, moves his seat to make room for the disgruntled passenger. Multiple squeakings of shoes ensue. He sits, closes his eyes, and tunes his ears away.
January 23, 2009
The process of hopping on the Delancey street F train is very unique due to a number of simple factors. As you walk down those corroded set of steps, your first view of this place is a bunch of cheap propaganda posters on a dirty tiled wall. You walk to the machine money in hand, mindlessly paying attention to your surroundings. The worker at the booth being bombarded with a billion questions, tourists staring at a map of the trains, clueless as to where they are and where they want to go. As you go through the turnstile, you see your train pull up and you say your goodbyes to this microcosm of an underground world thinking, “ what an odd place to be in”.
By: Brandon Diaz
January 22, 2009
Getting on the Holland Tunnel is like migrating with a pack or herd of Elephants.
Cars are everywhere and noise is a barrier between you and the rest of society, while going at the speed of a mini cooper on a Sunday stroll. Hearing the people in their cars screaming, shouting, and the blasting sound of honking horns in harmony. My boredom level goes through the roof and the thought of asking “are we there yet” crosses my mind a billion times. What seems like hours pass as we get closer and closer, and the smell of rotten everything passes through my naval cavities. Sooner or later I begun to see the light at the end of the tunnel and my mind goes spastic with happy thoughts of finally being able to get out of that crowded, smelly hellhole.