The tube is a strange place. Most say it's full of rude selfish and arrogant people. But I find myself watching my fellow passengers and trying to dive into their thoughts; to understand them, to empathise with them.
Isolated from their usual, terrestrial, methods of communication and distraction, people are trapped in the workings of tired, work wearied, world wearied, thoughts.
Some ponder the wordly questions - perhaps personally inconsequential yet none-the-less terrifying and of consequence to those they care about and love: Peace in the Middle East; a global crisis of confidence; crime; the economy. Others' ponderings are of the more personal nature: "how am I going to pay the next electricity bill"; the risk of their children going awol from the childish innocence they want them to enjoy; their girlfriends, their boyfriends, their ex's, their soon-to-be ex's - do they love them? Are they happy?
For these people, the etheral announcements of delays and interchanges, the tinkering of another's earphones, the flash of a passing headline on a free newspaper, are but a background theme to a twice-daily theatre inside their minds.
They're not so hard to spot. You can see it in their eyes, tired, slightly fearful; hunched against the rest of their subterrainian world. Perhaps at times like these, many imagine the Oyster card that gained them access to this trap of swimming thoughts to be somewhat ironically named.
Then the ticket barriers loom, a fresh breeze from outside, the honking of a passing bus. Their smartphones whipped out, communicative mobility restored. Their journey of mindful exploration is over, and the worries blow away with the breeze of a cool evening's air. Until tomorrow.
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