The word “metro” subtly implies a cosmopolitan panache all sub-ways inherently lack. Sub-ways, rather, are the stark, artificially lit entrails of contemporary civilization. Exactly as unsettling as a florescent Barium-lined GI tract, sub-ways lay bare the dark, cthonian realities of modern life…
Sadly, their regular users can’t help mutating into Morlock-esque form. The subterranean democratic esprit of rush hour commutes gives way to the odd, indigent (sometime immigrant) underclasses, peppered with a dash of doomed despair or the boldly bizarre. And yet it all remains somehow lifeless; a discordian setpiece.
There is an ominousness in the stale, stifling air of the sub-way. The tunnels leading out around corners to a dark netherworld — an uncharted space. The trains seem like candy-coated cybernetic Caterpillars, their strange sounds announcing an emergence that never…Becomes. Everywhere there is a buzzing ozone tang you can taste and feel, reminding of the cold, mechanical energies at work.
And dirt — dusty, crusty and musty miasmas that encrust this eternal no-space. No rationalist would deny their utility, but quick is he to forget the cost in spirit and soul of all…Sub-ways.