The unpleasant smell, the distinguishable sound, the abruptly cold breeze, and the brush of hundreds of strangers scuffling by. How could one possibly miss the tangled mix of dialects, rushed footsteps, dirty worn in seats, and hurried bodies all scrambling to make it on heedlessly before the doors promptly close. Amidst this chaos, the peaceful sound of street musicians tirelessly playing an elegant and antiquated tune, that one rarely stops to admire. Where am I, one might ask? I am in The Metro… whether in Paris, Italy, Spain, or countless other European cities, I have always dreaded walking the enveloping flight of stairs, leaving the fresh air, and often enchanting scenery, only to step down into the cold and stuffy Metro. The art of being shoved vehemently into others, guarding my belongings, and holding tightly upon sticky handrails, while staring awkwardly amongst fellow passengers as we navigate towards our destination. My usual preference? A taxi or a long leisurely walk. Now instead I long for the crowds of people and excitement of what lie ahead in the Metro.


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