There's something about the underground that seems to work so well metaphorically. All those trains, running underneath your feet, everyone going somewhere, a spiderweb network of orange and blue and green. I certainly dream about it often.
This is one of my dreams. Not the one from last night...a dream far more frightening and far more memorable. If I've already told you about it, never mind reading the rest.
I'm on the metro, at the back of one of those cars with white seats and orange walls in the front and the back, the ones you don't see as much anymore. The wall I'm against doesn't have a door in it -- it's the very end of the train. By the dim lights I can see a few other people in the car, each of them sitting on their own...reading their newspapers, or simply staring into space. And the train rattles on and on into the darkness. It doesn't stop, and it doesn't slow down.
I don't know where it's going.
I'm not giving up, ever. I swear it.
1 comment:
anne malcom, the next ernest hemingway. i wonder if he watched shows like Arthur
Post a Comment