concrete and steel rail
The fluorescent lights of the subway glaze my eyes over with their oily blue sheen; I've passed the threshold and all I am is awake. I love to be with the concrete, the rain-soaked high-rise buildings that drip, drip, drip, until all you can see is the fog in their irises and the distant blue lights of an apartment who's awake, too. If I look up, there is sky, and then there is concrete. There is always concrete: methodical blocks and things far too heavy to lift up– and the stony voice crackles from the speakers, a layer of dust rejoicing in its last swirl through the air as I step off the train, into a land without movement.