4/6 - Ghosts in the underground. Guy Concordia.
It was during my 3rd year of seasonal office work that I stopped dreaming, and during my 5th year that the night terrors began. I suspect that it was somewhere in between that I began to lose myself. I'm not entirely sure what it was but, unlike before, I now found myself as part of the daily migration rather than a naively enthusiastic voyeur. I started listening to music as a means of retreat, blocking the sounds around me. I blocked out the coughs and murmurs of the other passengers. I blocked out the syncopated rhythm of hundreds of solemn footsteps reverberating against cathedral cement ceilings. I blocked out the trains, the beggars, the buskers. Each day I found myself ritualistically standing on the same spot of the platform, riding the same car, and using the same point of entry/exit... all to limit my time in transit, my time in the spaces that once captivated my imagination and sparked my creativity. So swiftly do we fall when proper respect is left unpaid to the debilitating pull of routine.