After I long day, I climbed aboard and rode, reading and dozing by turns. At the end of the line, like a sleepwalker, I followed the crowd off the train.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed a young man disembark beside me, separating himself from the river of people that flowed as one toward the wide cement stairs and began to descend.
He was tanned, his head was completely shaven, and he wore work clothes and boots, all marked with a patina of white that looked like concrete dust or paint.
The other thing that made him different was a frenetic energy that seemed to vibrate off him in the midst of the somnolent crowd of homing commuters.
Quickly, decisively, he moved to the top of the up escalator and looked down. It was completely clear of people, and so was the platform below.
He backed up, bounded forward and suddenly he was airborne. I watched his head bob and heard seven rhythmic bounces as he leapt down against the current, barely touching the ascending risers. Then he was gone.
Witnessing this dramatic descent of an up escalator answered a question that I have wondered about off and on since I first rode the escalator in Woodward's in Edmonton at the age of five.
Is it possible go down the up escalator? Now I know it is.
No comments:
Post a Comment