I spend a whole lot of time underground.More than I'd like to.
It makes for plenty of good people watching (if you don't mind looking at someone from a 1cm distance) and I get through a lot of books (and a lot of under-par newspapers).
Minimizing my time on the tube has kick-started a habit of commuting back or forth by foot or by bike; but the odd day the trains are running on time, and I'm not feeling claustrophobic, I really don't mind it.
Today, I stood, toeing the yellow line that acts as an arbitrary cordon. (How is it that a strip of paint has become such an effective safety mechanism?) Looking lengthwise along the platform edge, the crowd appeared like a uniform mass, like a fleet of triathletes eager to plunge into the chilly current and willing to elbow or kick you in the nose if you get in their way.
Minus the spandex.
Come to think of it, it might not be a bad idea to strap on a pair of swim goggles and hold my breath the next time I squeeze onto a sardine-packed train en route to work...
