It started with me getting on the wrong train. Again. Third time in just as many days and, you're out.
Spent five seconds sprinting for the right one at the next station, and five minutes convincing myself that I had lost no time. Trains are serialized; the one I truly wanted had been behind the one I took.
Every mistake has consequences. This ones involved a labyrinthine trek to the next train's tracks. That's when I saw it - the double wide, black iron gate with peeling paint. It was pinned back against the corridor's white tile walls with a black metal chain. How long had it been pinned open?
My mind wandered, and I saw it closed. Barring a mob, trapping them inside this dirty train depot, beneath the ground.
Hot, angry flesh sweating against the iron gates of privilege and the greed of neo-capitalists.
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