It starts with a spontaneous thought – rain, sky, water, mud – a pit in the yard where the underground train to hell departs. All aboard! Take it slow. This train’s gonna be packed back-to-back with souls. Every seat sold is in a smoking car. Every newborn gets a cigar. Air’s a luxury down here below dirt encrusted sky, but there are plenty of friends to find. Worms, beetles and other dark crawlers creep silently through the dining car. Lots of discarded food to snuggle up to.
Choo. Choo. Wah-Woosh.
Picking up speed, with every push deeper toward the center of earth town. Out the window, darkness abounds. Down here the sun never shines in real time. It just glows like a nightlight in the memory zone. Toe-to-toe, commuters elbow their way to the first car, which has the best view, while descending through layers of dinosaur bones and decaying scrolls, before reaching the last bend where the track suddenly ends.
It’s worth the price of a one-way ticket when you retreat from the light. Plenty of take-out food to go if you’re a roach. No soft skin huggers here, only hard worn shells off the rack. Down here, styles tend to trend black with holes. Too many shabby souls. In the dirt, you’re never alone. One more station until you’re finally home. Choo. Choo. Got your baggage? Next stop, you’re toast.