Each carriage on the tube has enough seats for 90 people and space for another two dozen standing.
Fluorescent lights illuminate the cream walls and blue upholstered seats, clean as you could expect considering the crowd it carries each day.
Passengers are reading books, newspapers or electronic devices and many have headphones inserted to drown out the clashing of steel on steel as the locomotive powers on.
There’s a middle aged man with grey hair reading a book and he bursts in to laughter. On his third chuckle I lean closer to see what he is reading, tempted to ask about the book, but he’s engrossed.
Two French girls in their early 20s step off the platform and talk animatedly in their own language, comfortable in the fact few, if any, people can understand what they are saying. One has flowing brown hair, tied back at the top, but with the sides and back hanging around her shoulders. She wears circular reading glasses and a silver zip up jacket over a t-shirt with black jeans. Her friend wears a straight-brimmed cap and rolled up jogging pants, black hoodie and DC sneakers.
If only all the passengers were this happy.
There is more than 2200 years life experience crammed into this rolling tin can.
The lights dim and change colour, music begins playing from the speakers and beer flows from eskies hidden under the seats. People are dancing and at each stop new passengers are welcomed with open arms and handed a beverage.
People talk about their day, their loves – current and lost – tell stories, joke and laugh, then leave.
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