Where the Sun Can't Reach

LA Thompson

I don’t like the trains in the city— underground, where it should be dark; it should be quiet. But the loud loud loud makes my throat close up. The screech screech screeching makes me want to scream in chorus. The lights are fake— poorly imitating the sun, and the air is dark and heavy and smells like smoke and sweat. I hear the chirp chirp chirping of birds, and I am sorry. They shouldn’t be here where the sun is fake, and it is too too loud, and the air smells of smoke and sweat. And people.