The Journey (work in progress)

Chapter 1 Train racing.

Its strange how we’re prepared to let things we don’t like become central to our lives. I’ve always hated the underground trains, at first it was almost a phobia, but I can get use to anything but boredom.
I know what I hate about the trains, what I don’t know is if I can put it into words, but I’m going to try. I guess it’s my ego that hates it; after all when you watch people get on the train it’s clear that the train is more important than the people. That’s why the trains never wait for people but are often late.
Worst still is the way people put their lives in a second place on the train. The lucky ones sit and the unlucky stood, all pretending to be deep in thought, but most lulled into a trance state by the repeated movement of the train over the tracks.
I liked the smell some days; really I did, on days when no one brought fast food on to the train the smell was truly human. The smell of mixing sweat, the smell of individuals, none marketed smells.
I guess it’s not really trains I hate, not their uniform metallic cover or dirty inward facing windows (?) but rather what they do to me.
I’d love to be outside the train, running along side it and racing forwards, feeling the wind rush past me. Feeling the power, I’d love to, to believe in something outside my self, some thing out side of humanity, but I can’t, or rather won’t.

I think I’d always have preferred buses, but as it is they’re intertwined deeply with a better time and so I guess I’ll never know if my judgements any where near fair. I almost always travelled on double deckers though miles of cultivated country side, which always seemed to be at rest. I guess it helped that the buses where almost always emptier than the trains, for some reason people will talk to you on the bus.
“Hi,”
“Hi,” he said, smiled, and started to stare out the window.
“Where you going?” I remember running my hand up and down the metal bar at the top seat, it seemed frictionless.
“Redford,”
“Why?” I said, truly baffled.
“My grandma’s ill.”
Course some times things get in the way.

Various people, including train medical people, have questioned me on my obsession about transport. I’ve given various answers but that doesn’t really matter what I say as people care more about their own theories more about what’s really happen. Not that any things really happening. Some one said to me once that it was because I want change. Fucking genius weren’t they. I do like the change though, I like movement, after all every decision you make, changes you, kills a millions of alternatives, we’ve all committed suicide a billions times. And the effect we have on others, scary. I guess I also love change as its mandatory. You love it or die.