I went to London last summer for an English Literature program. Within my stay, the tube was my only kind of transportation. I came to love AND hate it at once. Before the olympics, the tube was speedy, easily accessible, and even enjoyable to ride. During the olympics, however, the tube became a type of transportation that I tried to avoid… no matter how far I had to walk. For one of my Creative Non-Fiction papers, I had to write a description of the tube. Sadly, this was assigned during the olympics… creating a piece filled with negativity. I hope you enjoy:

That Bloody Tube

            Body odor. The rancid tang stings nostrils and swallows any flowery fragrance present as sweat continues to stain armpits; body odor fastens itself onto the coffee burnt skin of the man grasping the train’s pole and floats happily around, attacking defenseless victims in its presence. The train shakes, causing the sweat-stained sleeves to crawl closer to my panicked nose, triggering the nerves in my feet to tense as I slowly creep away from this monstrous whiff of grotesque air.
As if my longing prayers have been answered, the train saves me from this smelly tragedy and stops at the next station permitting the deodorant-needing male to carry his stench elsewhere. As if the train is an illuminated angel being sent down to apologize for the agonizing minutes I just endured, a seat opens up and welcomes my bottom onto its blue, cottoned capital.
A bleach blonde woman sits before me fiddling with her manicured nails, bobbing her leg almost to the exact rhythm of the wheels hitting bumps in the seemingly ancient tracks, and chomps aggressively on her pink gum as it surrenders in her mouth to each sharp white weapon. She looks at my sandals, possibly judging the rip in the strap, or observing my calloused toes or my faded tattoo wondering about its meaning. My body reacts with a rapid tap of my fingers to the self-conscious thoughts swimming through my mind as this made up woman reviews my attire and discomforts my being.
Yet again, the enormous, metallic guardian protects me from awkward stares by coming to a stop at my awaited destination; although devils infused by blistering my eardrums with the sound of its shrieking brakes.
I thankfully rise, ignoring the splitting of my ear, collect my belongings, and sprint off of that bloody tube at once.