Going Home

First, it was the escalator.
I thought it to be a dream, but it was not.
First, it was the escalator. Then, everything else. The automatic doors to the platform, the elevator, the train doors. Everything was slower today, more effortless, more tranquil, than usual.
More slow.

Everything. Not everyone.
The people weren’t slow. They were sitting there. But, they were not immobile, not slow.
They were running, fast, faster than everything around. All of them. The ones on the platform and the ones inside the train with me. Running, yet not going anywhere.
No one was going anywhere. No.

No one, not nothing.
The train. The train was. Slowly, sluggishly.
From the inside, it almost seemed fixed, immobile, as if it was not. But, it was.
It was taking me home.
Slowly, gently, gliding through the tunnel, it was taking me home.

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