9:30a.m.
Under Grand Central. New York City.
Whatever you see on the crowded streets of New York is being duplicated, at the same time, below.
There is a city beneath you. Moving. Hustling. Clutching its purse. Scrolling its phone. Looking for the short cut. Shaving off minutes. Taking a breath.
Nearly everyone seems to be on their own. Thousands of passengers with unique destinations.
Rarely does someone acknowledge you with a smile. When they do, it feels extraordinary.
There is no time and no need for small talk. You glance at the person next to you, or across from you and can be fairly sure you will never see them again.
Underground, as your are, you can be your unassimilated authentic self. If you choose.
No one cares. No one will remember. The riders are the wallpaper, the background, the extras in the stories of strangers.
Credits:
© Dean Pagani 2022