39. The Station
He closed his eyes and listened. Footsteps. A voice, a word, a laugh. A child’s shriek. Music wafting out of somewhere. Echoing endlessly and forever. Underneath, a low hum and a rumble, coming through the floor, arising from nowhere distinct and everywhere. He felt that long after all of the trains had left the station the echo would remain in the bedrock and granite. He breathed in the air. Smelled the decades, dust and paper and smoke and a million exhalations. It was stale down here at the floor, but somewhere higher there was clean fresh air, cool and moist.
Two Buddhas in Conversation 