There’s construction up on Dupont, and if you’re walking on the north side of the street and want to avoid it, you need to pass through the entrance to the subway station.
The doors are always a little bit difficult to open, as if vacuum sealed, and when you do a whoosh of warm, subterranean air greets you. It was raining outside on Tuesday, and a tense, somewhat overwhelmed looking student approached. Perhaps she was far from home and lonely, perhaps everywhere she looked she was facing an obstacle, perhaps she hated this life that had called her. Perhaps anything.
Plugged into her iPhone she looked so remote and sad, so invisible in the loveless expanse of city, but when she opened the door a warm gust of air came upon her. She closed her eyes as her hair lifted and blew back. Her face unclenched and a look of relief fell over her, and it was as if she had just travelled back to wherever she had been happiest. And for a moment she was transported, becoming something glowing, before stepping on the escalator and slowly vanishing beneath.
