underground

I was riding on L2. First the train appeared at San Bernardo like a ship rising over the horizon of the sea, except the sea was a dark cement lined tunnel and the horizon was the top of the hill to the old center of town. First you see the yellow-lit end station sign, rising up from the darkness, and then the headlights, like some nocturnal ogre's eyes, searching for prey in the eternal subterranean night. Then the train zooms into the station and the otherworldliness of its exterior is gone. This time, there weren't many passengers inside when I got on. I must be late, I thought. The train rumbled through the tunnels, the noise of the wheels on the tracks, shrieking like the souls that had been disturbed when the tunnels where carved out of the early century's earth, and the passengers took no notice. It's all the same journey, every day you descend to the old lines. Narrow tracks, rattly cars. Soothing chunketa-chunketa of the machine rolling down the rails. Then we reached our destination, just one stop down the line (you can even see the stations down the track from each other if you're on the right side and lean out a little). The magical trip was over and I was moving on my own two mundane feet.