Manhattan morning rush hour can be quite spine chilling. The streets overflow with throngs of people walking, holding their fat-free lattes and heavy laptop bags with stern looking faces. I try to imitate them the best I can, but I stick out like a sore thumb.
As I go down the dirty stairs of the 96th street subway station, I take my Metro card out of my pocket. In my hand, the card is almost falling apart. I wince as I try to hold the paper together. Luckily, it still works.
I walk over to the platform and immediately feel the ground shaking; I hear the soft roaring of the approaching train. It is in the distance now; I can see the little light at the front of the train with a number above it.
The train stops and opens its doors for the passengers. I practically have to throw myself on board to prevent my leg from being severed by the closing doors.
YOU ARE READING
The Subway Symphony
Teen FictionSome people may not think very much of the New York subway. Maybe to most it is dirty, loud and a place where people show complete disregard towards personal space. To this unnamed observer, it is quite something else; a symphony.
