Wind whistles up the concrete steps of the Essex Street Station, alerting commuters to the approaching train.
Feet scamper faster down the narrow, congested passageway, nipping at the heels of dawdlers ahead.
Turnstiles halt momentum, blocking progression forward to the converging masses.
Bodies bound toward the tracks like coils springing out of a clockpunk creation.
Arms reach out to wedge open sliding steel slabs for one last straggling straphanger.
Shapes slump back onto the yellow, rubber platform edge, hands rest on jutted hips in frustration.
Curses spew like venom shot out at fading red taillights disappearing into an abyss of serpentine catacombs.
Watch flashing 8:46 a.m.