Zemnaya Svoboda
TNPer
The marble-faced floral columns shuddered and an abandoned news page flew into Eugene's face as the next train rumbled alongside the platform.
Putting aside the somewhat crumpled editorial castigating the government's withdrawn policy toward international incidents of recent times, Eugene did not have long to wait. With a *shwump*, the blue doors slid apart, exposing a thicket of fur coats and anoraks... a horde of people embedded within. Standing on the safety line bordering the platform, Eugene found himself shoved forward, then pushed back as a harried-looking woman in a worn pink anorak shoved her way free of the car. A moment later, he was embedded just inside the door.
Eugene considered the imprudence of rising later than half six as the wheeled blue can of people groaned its way out of the station. At least he hadn't waited even five seconds for his train.
A disconcertingly perfect young woman's face stared at Eugene from an advertisement under the ceiling, a slogan written across the vibrant mountain landscape beside her:
A further frown disfigured Eugene's face at this. Even if he could afford their international fares, even if there was such a place somewhere so serene it could be called by the foreigner's invented exemplary land of mystical serenity, there would be no good to visit alone. A bitter dream, when faced with firm reality.
Perhaps the pastry shop under the office and its almond biscuits would make this morning palatable. He could afford that, once in a week...
Caution, the doors are about to open.
Putting aside the somewhat crumpled editorial castigating the government's withdrawn policy toward international incidents of recent times, Eugene did not have long to wait. With a *shwump*, the blue doors slid apart, exposing a thicket of fur coats and anoraks... a horde of people embedded within. Standing on the safety line bordering the platform, Eugene found himself shoved forward, then pushed back as a harried-looking woman in a worn pink anorak shoved her way free of the car. A moment later, he was embedded just inside the door.
Caution, the doors are about to close.
Eugene considered the imprudence of rising later than half six as the wheeled blue can of people groaned its way out of the station. At least he hadn't waited even five seconds for his train.
A disconcertingly perfect young woman's face stared at Eugene from an advertisement under the ceiling, a slogan written across the vibrant mountain landscape beside her:
Find Shangri-La on a plane of RMA!
A further frown disfigured Eugene's face at this. Even if he could afford their international fares, even if there was such a place somewhere so serene it could be called by the foreigner's invented exemplary land of mystical serenity, there would be no good to visit alone. A bitter dream, when faced with firm reality.
Perhaps the pastry shop under the office and its almond biscuits would make this morning palatable. He could afford that, once in a week...