Moving out of the context, first to go underground and next to. Stepping down, into the cambiatic interior. My feet touch forty steps, some wet with rain, drops pooling together and sliding down from the entrance, splitting and filling cracks of the steps that lay injured. The station is the sewer for those who want to be removed from the experience and enter a parallel one, momentarily fresh. Instantaneously, new.
Evacuated from this time space and teleported to another. The elaborate support mechanisms which hold these walls up. A forgotten glove hangs over the end of a handrail, the curved metal loop holding it as it slumps round.