METRO

I was awoken this morning by the familiar ripping sound of a chainsaw weilding Czech in my bedroom. A moment of silence and then a deep resonating boom that made the stuff on my desk reverbarate.

I don't live in forest, or near one, in fact the place i live in insults me daily with a total lack of green. i look from my windows and see only concrete. They are cutting the trees down now. The bark is black, the trunk wizened and knarled. Snow clings to the flatter surfaces. On the uppermost branch there is a hint of a bud. This tree is alive. There were three like it this morning. Each stained by the pit in iniquity and death that i reside in, but each still there, grasping to life like an animal to its prey.
The trees lie scattered as dust now. Sodden dust, but nothing will grow here. Concrete remains.

The day was passeing quickly when a phonecall from a friend brought me out of the time machine that's boredom and gave me a chance to use the daylight. So, at 4:30pm, i grabbed my flying jacket and rucksack, and headed for the metro.

Walking up the road towards Muzeum i recalled the first time i walked here, a year ago, on a holiday. It seemed an exciting place then. Now, living moments away i see it for the mundane place that it is. I don't detest it, but it wins no place in my heart.

I walked down into the subway, along the dank corridor, down the many steps. I bought my 50P ticket, and headed down the escalator. I always walk down them, never stand still. Seems to take so long if you do. The flurry of people on the upwards escalator made me aware that a train had just left the platform. If it was going to skalka, it's not a problem, if it was going to deyvitska (lit) i'll have to wait for the next.

I reach the platorm and look left, 50 seconds since the last train left. I have a wait to enjoy. The czechs don't understand personal space, you have to understand that before you use the metro. Give them an inch and they'll take it, with extra.
A strong draft turned into a wind, blowing from right to left. Headlights peered through the darkness of the tunnel. Glistened off the many pipes and cables embedded in the walk. Lit up the danp blackness. With the light and wind arrives the noise, brakes, motors, hydraulics, footsteps, unintelligable conversation.

The door arrives just to my left and i take a step back as people hurridly leave the wheeled metal room. I allow others to get on first, i want to be closest to the door as i'm getting off at the next stop. The last person gets on and i step aboard the machine moments before the red doors slide closed behind me. As they do so, i turn towards them, i do not want to spend the entire 40 second journey trying to avoid eye contact with everyone.
The metro accellerates quickly, a few people take a step as they move to counter the change. This is metro A, it has the newest trains, the nicest stations. It serves the tourist destinations.

A giant unseen hand pulls me to my right as the train decelerates. I step into the busy, dreary, crowded and overcomplicated maze that is Mustek. Its tunnels spread under a large part of the city centre. I head down an escalator, deeper underground. Into the tunnels. I have no idea where these tunnels truly lie in terms of what's above, in truth i don't see a connection, though i will find out someday. I reach the bottom of the escalator and breathe in a sample of the stale air that circulates. It's heavy.

I watch with a smirk as people follow the signs pointing to metro B, my destination, the signs lead you through a long tunnel, it goes around things. My choice is a tunnel that goes direct to the end of the metro B platform. A few steps deeper and i arrive on the platform, the familar wind of imminent arrival on my right cheek.

Metro B is the busiest metro, it serves the most stations, the most people, the stations are at places the czechs want to go. The trains are old and graffitied, the platforms seem designed to shed abuse. As the carraige arrives two feet from my face the doors open. There's no time for hanging around on the yellow B line. I'm going three stations.

The doors close and i realise the air in the train makes that on the platform seem fresh. There's a smell of stale yet fresh paint, but this carraige hasn't seen paint since it was last graffitied. The bloke on a seat in front of me is playing with his mobile phone, it's clear he's just using it to keep from looking round the carraige though. A new smell wafts towards me. The smell the homeless carry with them. They use the metro. There are no ticket barriers here and no inspectors on the B Line. There's no point. The destitute use the metro as a means of staying warm. They do not haunt the stations, they'd be moved on.

I arrive at my destination, Andel, Angel. This station is special. 20 years ago this station was called Moscow. Murals depicting the greatness of the the now dead CCP are on the walls. The name is changed, these remain. A dark reminder of what was. One of them shows two cosmonauts. There are two escalators going upwards today. That's good, when there's only one there's a giant queue to get on it. I head up, a cold wind tearing down the violently sloping tunnel and into the station as a train departs. I do my shopping and return from whence i came. The Metro.

Another ticket bought and i step from the cold of the upper station into the unknown of the metro. This station is always so busy, so full of people. Everyone wants to get on or off a metro.
I cram myself into the train, personal space zero. There's a rucksack two inches from me at eye level. Being 5 foot 8 is sometimes a real pain in the arse.

Stations are waited for and once again i step into Mustek the maze. The air feels heavier than before as i walk up the steps. Like breathing in a steam room, only it's cool. I stand waiting for the metro A train, on the metro A platform. It arrives oh so quietly compared to the choking mechanical destitution that B is. A single stop and i'm at Muzeum. It's a hateful place. Well lit, yet the soul of the place is dark, seedy somehow. I dislike it. Up the steps and into the open, a park near the museum.

As i rise into the open the cold grips me and the noise from the three laned road beside the park overpowers the scene. This park is shadowed by the giant museum, the trees are blackened by the road and city. A single white statue stands in the centre of a circle of winter killed grass. The black mud beneath shows more than the dirty brown green of the grass. I walk up a path paralell to the road. I loathe this place now it's dark. Black trees, the din of the road, the poorly lit bushes, this is what i hate about cities. The bits no-one cares about.

Out in the open, when everyone stops caring about a place, nature reclaims it in its own way. In a city where concrete is the rule, not the exception, nature will never reclaim what we stop caring about.