Thoughtlessly transported by a network of escalators, as dummies on a conveyor-belt ready to be sold, the Waterloo travelers are rising from the dark emptiness of the London Underground maze, to complete their journeys home.
The click-clack of high heels resonates through the station. Dozens of women, hurrying to their trains, desperate to go home and get rid of their uncomfortable tight skirts and white blouses, stained by their late lunch skinny latte's. The tall gangly blonde lady over there is cursing her stiletto's, wishing she'd brought some flats. Envying all women who delightfully changed into their sneakers, their heels crammed away in their purses. Oh the sigh of relief once she finally gets home.
"Platform 1 for the 19:27 Southwest ..."
The extremely muscular construction worker on the phone, his pace controlled. Heading for his platform, hasn't taken off his gloves yet, carrying all his tools with him. Wearing kaki trousers and a sleeveless shirt, showing arms still fully covered in a grizzled grey dust from today's work. Dark chocolate brown skin peeking through, yearning for a long hot shower. He doesn't look as tired as all the men in suits do.
"Platform 1 for the 19:27 Southwest train service to Strawberry Hill ..."
Like him. His perfect black shoes so impeccably polished that they show your reflection. Too bad he doesn't have quite a face worth reflecting. Increasing speed, make his shoes slip on the smooth surface of the station, resulting in an odd combination of a corpulent tap-dancing Bambi on ice. The yellow bags under his eyes tell it's been a long day. Tie loosened up, stuffing his face with a steaming hot chicken burrito, his coat dangling on his arm. He foolishly burns his mouth, but he can't be bothered anymore. All he cares for now is an endlessy long deep sleep.
"Platform 1 for the 19:27 Southwest train service to Strawberry Hill, via Kingston, calling at ..."
The small young girl in the corner with an unmatched sweet smile as her eyes glide over the screen of her phone. The text message she just received makes her beam with joy. She floats away in her little pink dress and vanishes in the crowd, feeling on top of the world.
"Platform 1 for the 19:27 Southwest train service to Strawberry Hill, via Kingston, calling at Vauxhall, Clapham Junction..."
I slip my card in the slot, and wait for it to beep and pop out again. The doors smack open, I quickly grab my card and rush through the gate. I hop on my train, the sounds of a sharp whistle fill my ears, and we leave. Leaving Waterloo station behind, watching it disappear as we ride, until there's nothing left but a distant memory of buzzing public transport travelers on this particular Wednesday night.
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