Interchanging

So.

Music drifting in and out of rumbling. Doors. Conversations. Announcements. Can’t hear. Can’t hear much.

Tired. Very, very tired.

I don’t know. There’s something about travelling on the tube later in the evening. Travelling home. Stations. So many stations. As you live in London longer, each of them develops their own set of memories. Often these days, I don’t remember stations by their location or the line they’re on; no, I remember them by memories. That’s where we met that strange South African man who believed all our ridiculous stories; this is where I helped my friend as she rushed off the train and threw up at the side of the platform; that’s where we let trains go through without us for an hour as we talked and talked and talked; this is where - oh, never mind about that one; that’s where we had the vicious row in the middle of the platform, within full view and full hearing of a bemused elderly couple. And so on.

Scenes play out in my mind. Then, in the darkness between tunnels, I watch the wires and lamps and pipes and walls slip by outside. My head nodding forwards. It’s as if the train is no longer moving whilst the outside drifts by. Eyes playing tricks, though. Just eyes playing tricks.

Tired. Rest my head against the glass partition at the end of the row of seats. Thank heavens for the glass partition; I always try and sit next to it.

Take off the headphones. Listen to the rumbling, the rattling, the conversations, the sliding doors, the noise. Noise. Repeating myself. I’m trying to remember his words, her words, their words, but nothing comes. Empty. Maybe if I slide my hand across my forehead? Probably not.

I think I could ride these lines forever until I get where I’m going. Wherever that is. Wherever I am. Wherever you are, even. But I’m not sure where that is. I want to go to the end of the line and see if there’s anything there.

I want to secretly leave notes for people travelling on the London Underground, tucked inbetween the seat cushions. A way of communicating in this never-sleeping city.

I think this is my station.