We were strangers to one another. Well, apart from…the subway. Our paths crossed fortuitously many times, and on this steamy August morning we found ourselves Pingguoyuan-bound on Line 1. The carriages were heaving and the air was hot and merciless.
“So…do you take line 1 often?” She asked, moving closer to me as if to say –for the second largest transit network in the world, this feels awfully intimate-.
“No, not at all. I generally try to avoid it by taking the newly built line 6 that runs parallel slightly to the north. It has excellent connections to lines 4 and 10. Though I do occasionally enjoy a mid-afternoon ride, if only to appreciate the Soviet vibe that echoes through these magnificent stations.” I had revealed too much of myself for a first encounter. We had not even exchanged names and already I had more or less confided in this stranger my pathological, sensual and deeply erotic love of underground transport.
“Fascinating. I would love to hear more, but it’s time for me to…get off,” she turned away to face the kitsch schematic diagram of the 2015 Metropolitan Subway projected expansion. I feared that by divulging too much I had crossed a boundary, until she lifted her eyes and gently spoke those words I love to hear, “By the way, I hate line 1 too, I only use it to get to lines 2 and 5.”
“I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.” We both lowered our gaze to the floor, “Will I see you on the circular line tomorrow?”
“Not if I see you first.” She said as the doors opened onto a buzzing platform.
beijingstylebaby 