People are always rushing. Always responding to the voice on the overhead speaker. Hurrying in herds, gripping their belongings and holding them close to their torso.
A gust of wind, and a gleaming silver tube comes to a stop.
The overhead speaker announces, “This is Cumberland.”
Doors open and people board in groups. They move into positions, sitting or standing, and prepare to be hurtled to their destination.
A woman sprints, the click-clacking of her heels bounce off of the tiled walls. “Wait!” she cries to nobody in particular. She leaps onto the train and the doors seal her in.
She shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath. Exhales.
People around her, they look at her as if they were expecting her to leap off the platform and fall to her death. The collective look of a conversion of faith in the human spirit.
The overhead speaker announces, “Next stop, Harlem.”