The Monster With A Thousand Heads
The metal snake slides to a stop and opens its twenty mouthes, and the monster with a thousand heads pours out onto the platform. A huge amorphous beast, a patchwork of colors and shapes, a shifting cloud of motion and purpose, it surges across the platform and squeezes onto the escalators, warping like an hourglass in its center then oozing briefly back into shape at the bottom before it breaks into neat rows for the journey through the turnstiles.
Picking up speed now, it breaks in two, pouring like a divided stream into east and west tunnels and out into the sun. And here, at last, it succumbs to the centrifugal force of its individual yearnings and breaks apart entirely, shattering like glass. A thousand heads scatter across the tarmac like sparks, into tiny cars that shudder, sputter to life, and roar out of the station into the waning light of day.
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