You can people watch to your heart's content. You can be 'the nutter'.
You can see the classiest, clad in furs and fawnings, who can't quite afford to take a taxi...
You can see the crummiest, grimiest, stinkiest, who can't quite afford to sleep indoors...
It's a microcosm of life, but there are so many reflections... real and imagined.
You can see yourself in others, and you can see yourself, literally, in all those echoes of your life winking back at you through the blackened windows...
Strangely impersonal place, other people are strangers, card-board cut-outs who don't really exist, because they don't know us, and in front of whom we can apply masks, put on make-up, so that real people will think we look beautiful.
Phone calls on the metro connect us to the real world. The world that we know. Underground is not real. It's a passage between worlds. You don't have to impress, because the people you meet there are illusions.
They are not listening. They belong to other worlds. Their worlds outside of these tunnels. Thinking their thoughts, dreaming their dreams. Assailed by incessant adverts like us all, yes, but oblivious. Hoping for tomorrow, or resigned. Who knows?
© Sab Will / Paris Set Me Free 2006
Section Updated: Free Wheeling