Stepping off the 6-train and into the Union Square platform, the squeals of over-used and under-maintained brakes come from above, below, left and right. The audio-offspring resulting from the friction of metal on metal with the momentum of 200 tons of subway car carrying hundreds of weary workers...the noise...the noise...massive...it all jostles for priority entry into my 1/4 inch ear drum.
The lower notes of metal on metal, just something to deal with. Just loud. That kinda stuff you've gotta expect when your home is crowded. The multi-decibel squeals inside my head, though...I don't know. I don't know! Where are the stairs? At least 6 levels of high pitched squeal, and now there are new trains on both tracks, and WHY do fat women always manage to get between me and the goddam stairs?

The noise, low and high, surrounding me and in my head! Combined with the sudden blasted moist wall of heat, the noise is a deafening deomnstration of power, and it's as though I'm in front of the Jurrasic Park t-Rex, jaws agape, hot breath propelling my body back.


Goddam you, New York.