Night Time in the Subway

In the subway.

Surrounded by the echoing sounds of foot steps,

and the ugly green tiles that line the walls and floor.

Harsh neon light is combined with poorly filtered light from the grubby windows, bathing everything in a sickly yellow hue.

Ads for two for one broccoli and double cheese burgers fight for attention, leering out of their cheap, plastic casings.

The crowd hurries past, some looking down, some looking up;
some running for a train that is already gone.

A heavily tattooed man is strumming his guitar like there's no tomorrow,
and he even grins a little as passers by shower him with coins.

A bitterly cold breeze whistles through the tunnels,
chasing leaves and old candy wrappers across the already disgusting floor.

All around is the hustle and bustle of people trying to get home,
it is rush-hour, underground.

A gaggle of giggling teenage girl shuffle past,
their faces heavily plastered with make up and flushed with the success of the day's shopping.

Night time in the subway starts now.