Through the turnstiles and down the bomb-shelter-deep escalator into Mendeleevskaya, where walkontheleftstandontheright is obeyed even in the rush hour crush, onto the flourescentlit platform where metallic molecules loom like space age versions of the toothpick and styrofoam models we made for Ms. Hepp’s sophomore chemistry class, Zack sorry I took yours down and made a snowman. And Mendeleev the Siberian periodic table founder, not Gregor of the peas.

Through the переход to Novoslobodskaya on the circle line, the caterpillar shuffle and an ocean of bobbing heads to the escalator bottleneck, then down to the platform. The redlit numbers count up, two going on three whole minutes between trains, come on, do I look like I’m made out of time? Backlit stained glass workerpeasants, marvelous last April, but now just like the cement honeycomb of Washington. The tealblue train rickets to a stop, buoys like an iceberg as people pour off, sinks as we squeeze back in. The loudspeaker Остарожно, дверы закрывается. Следущая станция, Белорусская.