the night is light underground

this is the subway at 3:30am.

everyone sleeps.

The night is light underground.

Underneath my feet, it is always bright. The day never falls into a dark night, and the light of morning never stops shining. Hundreds of bulbs illuminate a world of tunnels, rails and platforms, casting everything into eternal shadow and relief. There is no sense of time here, no shift from dusk into dawn, no sense of life's ceaseless forward marching pace. It is always day here underground. The night is one of light.

Millions of people congregate here. They come to catch subways that will take them to places of work, pleasure, sleep, dining, and worship. Women going off to work wear 'sensible' high heels, ones that don't turn them into human versions of the Leaning Towers of Pisa. The kids going to school haul backpacks with them, snapping gum and talking at full volume. Wall Street bankers look staid and bored in perfectly fitted suits.

They are always here, the people, even during the hours when only insomniacs and drunks are awake. Even then, during this phantom time of night, the people come to the false daytime of the subways. They bask in the lighting like revelers at Coney Island, the platforms their beaches.

It's during these strange hours when I love the subway the best. The 1am - 4am bracket of time seems the most mysterious, strange and charged time to ride the subway. Walking underground you lose the night sky and are immersed in a bath of cheap lighting, your nostrils confronted with the primitive odors of urine or unwashed hair.

Single men stand, casting furtive looks around them. There are always 1 or 2 females as well, looking worn out, tired and sometimes drunk. Couples paw at one another -- they always seem to be much more public in the evening -- and drunks more freely fall asleep on the benches and subway seats that dot the underground.

It's a good thing to do once in awhile. Hop on the subway late at night and observe humanity around you. You gain humility at seeing all the workers coming off their night shifts looking beaten down and ready to pass out in fatigue. You gain sympathy for the single girl riding by herself, looking around her every so often to make sure no one is going to bother or molest her. You laugh a little at the passed out drunks snoozing on the seats. (Not in a mean way, but in a comical one -- they sleep with their mouths open, expressions frozen in sleepy shock.)

The night is always light underground. If you haven't experienced it, you should. It's a strange world.