Zombies, Door Knobs and Brat Packs
I t's a huge mass of metal, cloth, plastic and who knows what else flying through a dark tunnel at high speed. The wind rushes before it, displaced like a wave of toothpaste being squeezed out of a tube. You hear the metal on metal screeching to a halt, opening its doors and disgorging the contents all over the platform and into the bowels of Toronto's transport system. The subway has arrived. You'd think that we would appreciate the might and magistery of these massive machines, but in that frantic never-ending rush-hour-like jostling there is little time or energy to concentrate on their wonder. It's in these cramped tunnels, deep below the earth that we meet the most fascinating creatures. An underground labyrinth filled to the brim twice a day with a mass of wide-eyed zombies stumbling off for another unproductive day in a miserable bureaucracy somewhere. It's the way they look through you; as if you don't exists, or they don't. That's how you know t...