Nonsense Station

On Sundays the subway runs slower than through the rest of the week. Peter was sure that there is a very good reason for that, yet he didn’t know what it was nor that he cared. It was enough that Sunday was quieter than the rest of the days.



Peter was a very calm guy in general, sometimes he had his passionate moments, but mostly he remained cool. He cared too much about things to let them pass by, yet he wasn’t able to turn into a ball of emotions that can be tossed around a room of shame. It was a sunny day at the subway station; the trains’ roofs were reflecting the sun while heading towards the first underground station. It seemed like a moving gem that caught the rays and added a glimpse of peacefulness to the day. Such minor details expanded the small world of Peter into a dream that he wasn’t able to experience through the rest of the week, yet these details were probably around all the time.



Peter paid the small fee and entered the station. It wasn’t a spectacular one. Even the sun knew that and tried to improve it by piercing through the few windows that, if not dirty as hell, were supposed to connect society and nature. Tadam-tadam-tadam-tadam the train in the opposite direction arrived with very few people onboard. Tadam-tadam-tadam-tadam, the train in his direction arrived too with even fewer people.



For some reason, Peter, who wasn’t rushing for anywhere, wanted to move faster. As if the weekdays had a profound effect on his understanding of movement and speed. He felt rushed as if he was expected to pay for every minute that he wasn’t moving, doing, learning, or exploring. He was standing in the very front of the station because he wanted to sit at in front where the train operator was. He was trying to suppress a weird sense of curiosity, which started to grow somewhere behind his eyes.



Tadam-tadam-tadam-tadam and the train dived into the underground passages where the eyes of the mice resembled traffic lights while their tails drummed on the pavement to warn for the incoming train. Like a rollercoaster the body of steel floated over the iron tracks with a screaming sound. It was cutting every thought in Peter’s head while unleashing his ability to observe and direct his mind towards the expected destination. Every 50 meters there were traffic lights, which were red until the train reached a meter, then they turned orange and then they disappeared into the dusty distance.



Apparently every kid knew, and liked, the “front row”. At the next 3 stations there ware parents with kids who went straight to the front to stick their little noses on the windows and observe. All of a sudden it was like a mini kindergarten that joyfully traveled under the city like a secret parade. The parents were able to exchange a couple of words while the curiosity of their children’s eyes followed the way to the future.



Peter had no kids, yet he liked them a lot. He was an overall good guy who took his time to observe life regardless the subject… People, trains, emotions, nature and a many other topics where the ingredients, which he blended into an award deserving cocktail, that nobody had the chance to taste. Too instant to care to see, too distant to interest anyone but him. He was smiling while looking at the parents and their children. He thought about the movement and how simple it seemed to be, yet complex to recreate. The machine that very few knew how to operate carried a huge mask that hid its complication. It was a border for curiosity, one that was granted to the people who, in their minds, deserved it all. Every light was switching a new race from A to B, as if a new project came to mind. As if the brain screamed like the wheels of a runaway train. Problems, dreams, busyness… Hiding away was the only thing un-granted to the self. Peter saw a slight bend where the tracks were changing direction. He thought about the guidance of people and he felt the urge to scream in sync with the tails of the rats. Their eyes and the 50m traffic lights illuminated his thoughts, thus overloading the calmness of the Sunday morning. The huge contrast between the shallowness of the parents and the curiosity of the kids, noise and the voice that reminded of the next stop - a big motherfuckin’ cocktail which made him puke from the bottom of his guts. He wasn’t able to keep on with this journey towards Nonsence Station. He needed space, he needed freedom, he needed the light of the day, the peace that wasn’t there, he wanted to escape in a burst of a machine gun - through the ceiling, the ground and into the openness of nature. He opened his eyes wide, turned on a smile, and like a sensitive system got off the train and started running towards the Sunday sun.

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