I was in an underground train station. This particular stop was similar in construction to 12th Street BART station (imagine a place slightly Escher) except orange, yellow and cream colored. Two men behind me were speaking Russian or some other Eastern European language. I decided to take the stairwell to the right which, I already knew, required me to duck a little. Why would they make this stairwell so short? You'd have to be 5'9" to pass comfortably, I thought to myself. I descended the stairs and went to duck but the slanted ceiling had gotten shorter. I had to put my bag down, lay on the ground, and slide on the tile to get into the stairwell. Making it down the stairs was just as tight. The passage became smaller. I could see the train tracks and I was pulling myself through the passageway. I was very thankful that the walls, ceiling and stairs had recently been polished which allowed me to not get stuck. At one point I wondered if I'd even fit and make it out the other end.
Once on the platform I decided to make instant rice. As I put the rice on, the final train arrived which I needed to take. I got in the final car, expecting there to be a box of rice (usually someone always leaves a box of instant rice behind on the final car of the last train) but there was none. I sat down and looked at the people around me. There was a guy sleeping in a bunker. He had taken this train all the way from New York and he was going to the University of Southern California, at least that's what his hat said. He had a bureau, an alarm clock, and a television. I wondered what that must be like, riding in the train across the country. What did he do all day? I knew he was on the final days of his journey that must've taken a week.
Outside the window I could see leaves and brush. The sun was shining bright and yellow. We were moving at a very slow pace. I could hear the rhythmic thudding of the train's wheels on the tracks.
