I’m into these writing exercises right now. They are keeping my mind and fingers limber by ensuring that I think through how to describe events that I feel and see. This is a continuation of my last paragraph.
I push my way off of the train, rubbing shoulders with innumerable people. The cool fans above the doors rush air past my head as I step onto the concourse. The heat is sudden and intense. Although I was stuffy on the train, it doesn’t compare to the outside. For a moment, it feels like I can’t breathe. Like the air is a tangible substance that fills my throat before hardening into concrete. I force myself to keep walking, past the turnstiles and out of the station. It’s not quite as busy here. For just a moment, I think I’ve gotten off at the wrong station, or maybe I should just turn around and go back. I shrug it off, resolutely walking forward. I can already feel the sweat sticking to my clothes and coalescing on my forehead. It wouldn’t be so bad if my surroundings weren’t reflecting the heat back onto everything. The concrete jungle around me is a literal oven, heating up the city and causing general uncomfortability to the millions living here. I reach one of the main streets, squinting against the sun. Cars and vans, buses and taxis all drive by. My eyes hurt from the constant flashes of light as the sun bounces off of the reflective paint. Maybe I should come back in the evening when I can function. There’s a reason I’m the only one outside of the station.