Rushing wind
Echoes down the sooty blackfilled tunnel.
Sides slip past the train doors so fast.
That they become a dirty blur.
The wind rushed through the open window
At the end of the carriage.
Slamming into my face
twisting my hair into a million flying waves
in it's forceful fast rush.
And that's just through the window.

I open the door then, the flying sootiness below and above and to each side
The yellow warm light from the carriages below and in front;
A gap of darkness between two spheres of light.
The darkness calls to me
With angry roaring wind.

If I fell, I would die.
My body whipped under at least five carriages.
My head smashed in, my body mangled.
It would probably never be found.

I don't believe in life after death.

But I believe in life.

So I jump.

And land grinning on the other side of the flying abyss.
The stares of the passengers in the next carriage greet me.
Men and women, trashy free newspapers clutched to their laps.
Do they understand the thrill of life?
I don't know.

So I rush to the other end of the carriage, and wrench open the wind-battered door.

And prepare to jump again.