She was tired of fighting. Every single day was just a monotonous record playing on an endless loop, inspiring in her only the urge to lift the needle and return it to the cradle.
The train was always this platform. At the other end it was always that platform. The same people got on here and different but also familiar people alighted there. She was disgusted to have realized she knew what day of the week an overweight Greek man liked to wear a particular blue-checkered shirt. It was always Wednesdays. Was that his ‘sexy’ day?
She lowered herself onto the tracks without any forethought, hesitation or regret and began to walk into the tunnel.
Here, at last, was something different. She removed her shoes and could feel the damp concrete of the sleepers on the bottom of her feet. The sounds of the world were reproduced through echo here and thus were no longer repetitive and uninteresting. Somewhere there was a drip that was so delightfully otherworldly yet rhythmic that she would happily accept it as a lullaby.
The sleepers began to vibrate and a shrill squeak pulsed down the rails on either side of her. She had only a few seconds to decide if it was worth going back.