Subway Description

As the story progresses, it became evident that the setting was a post nuclear apocalypse in New York City. The author utilized descriptions such as “high towers of the gods” and “great caves and tunnels” to describe skyscrapers and subways respectively.The author’s selection of the location highlights the complete difference of the

Elements such as an individual’s inner, psychological state and personal histories are contributing forces to explain one, single behavior. However, there are forces more driven and staggering that fill the empty spaces. The Goetz case, in particular, embodies those external grounds because regardless of the background, history, and mental state of Goetz, the shooting had taken place because of the area and environment that Goetz was situated in at the time. The biographer of Goetz, Lillian Rubin, asserts, “For Bernie, there seems to be something seductive about the setting” (Gladwell 241). On the day of the shooting, the subway was in a filthy, grimy condition; vandalization and graffiti were prominent throughout the area, and the atmosphere itself breathed of disarray. Goetz’s action was triggered by the time, place, and manner he was positioned in, proving that one’s psychological status and even personal life history may not be as imperative in shaping the final outcome as the external environment which ultimately dictates this result. William Bratton, the head of the transit police in the late 1900s, emphasized the importance of taking toddler steps

“I stared at it in the swinging lights of the subway car, and in the faces and bodies of the people, and in my own face, trapped in the darkness which roared outside” (Baldwin, 74). The narrator of the story is reading a newspaper about how his younger brother, Sonny, is going to jail. The narrator cannot believe he is reading Sonny’s name on the newspaper. The lights on the subway connect to the lightness of feeling safe from being inside rather being trapped outside where reality endures. The darkness roaring outside is the harsh, realism of the

There is no place I feel more content than on the New York City subway. There is no sound I find more comforting than the voices of street performers rising above the roaring trains. No smell more welcoming than freshly made churros. At Wall street I can set my watch by the steady flow of men and women in bland colored suits at rush hour, or the families arguing about maps in foreign languages in Times Square. However, the unexpected aspect comes from the colored socks that are revealed from under the suits of the seemingly mundane men and women or the knowing glances shared between families presumed to be oblivious as they hold a map with Harlem facing south. The idiosyncrasies of these people are what, today, drive me to never stop searching for more information.

Sharon Olds “On the subway car” used imagery, and organization in order to convey the realization that although the two characters are very different they share one key similarity, they are both hunter and hunted.

At 11:34 p.m. Marty Wilkins pushed the button for the 24th floor of his apartment elevator. The metal doors slid noiselessly across greased tracks and he walked to the window at end of the muted yellow hallway. He climbed out onto the fire escape, scaled up its ladder, and padded silently across the roof. Marty sat on the knee high retaining wall that bordered the roof, and his feet hung loosely into the nothingness. He liked the way the wind bounced up from the street, bringing with it the smells and sounds of the Friday night.

It is early morning and the subway cars clang along the tracks, rocking rhythmically back and forth. The train sways from side to side, in New York City, causing people to drift off to sleep, while others sip their coffee and munch on their breakfasts, read the newspapers and engage in conversation. There are all different kinds of people, from all different locations.

“Here we are,” shouts the bus driver “Boston, Massachusetts.” I slowly sit up in my seat, looking around the bus watching the other 10 gloomy passengers look out their windows waiting for the vehicle to come to a complete stop before standing up. The lights inside the bus switch on, and slowly all of us file off the bus. I walk down the bus stairs and jump onto the cracked concrete. Looking up I see a dimly lit bus stop with blank advertisement stalls and a bench that looks as if it would collapse the instant someone sat on it. I walk down the sidewalk along some apartment buildings with vines crawling up the sides of the worn brick walls. As I walk, searching for my destination, my phone rings. I look down at the name: “Jerry Kline.” Dammit not again I think to myself. Just be cool. “Hello?” I answer.

Staten Island's food scene is one of NYC's best kept secrets. Although a ferry separates it from the rest of the city, there is a burgeoning food culture that is all its own. From old school Italian cuisine, no frills Western African food, to complex tapas, and layered Sri Lankan food, it is one of the most diverse and underrepresented in the Metro area. The next time you are craving an adventure, take the short ferry ride to this borough's best kept secrets to have a culinary experience that's unlike any other through some of the 12 best restaurants on the island.

As I walk up Broadway, I stop at a newsstand for a copy of the New York Post. When I lived with my parents, my father disdained the Post and would only subscribe to the Times or the Wall Street Journal, but I love the visceral elements of the Post. I tuck the newspaper into my bag, and walk past this Mecca of civilization. I’m convinced the autumn air smells crisper on this side of town, and it makes me reluctant to descend below the sidewalk into the sour breath of the subway.

An airport lounge once felt rich with possibilities for spontaneous encounters. Even if we did not converse, our attention was free to alight upon one another and linger, or not. We encountered another person, even if in silence. Such encounters are always ambiguous, and their need for interpretation gives rise to a train of imaginings, often erotic. This is what makes cities exciting.

You wake up in a pitch black room, there you hear a series of loud, rusty chains, and boots slowly making its’ way up the dusty stairs of the 1960’s house you’re in. The chains move from stair to stair, the loud ringing of the metal vibrate off of your ears with every single step. The chains seem to move closer.. and closer.. until finally, you can feel the warmth of the visitor outside of the door. You hear the door creak, and a monotone growl, as you begin to open your mouth to let out a scream of terror from hideous monster you’re facing. All of a sudden, the lights turn on, and applaudes surround you, you realize that you’ve been in the movie theater the whole time. The director William Brent Bell expresses pathos in his 2016 horror filled

Around five in the morning, I walked to the Foggy Bottom Metro Station only to find that it was not open yet. What amazed me was that, even this early in the morning, the metro still had delays. Emerging from the bowls of the Capitol South Metro Station, I noticed the lack of sunshine. I was standing outside of the Supreme Court

My Monday ride began with following items strewn across the platform near the main entrance to our regular subway station, the 18th Street stop on the No. 1 line: Four Metro Cards, two paper napkins, a copy of AM New York scattered in five parts, one soda can, one packet of cigarette, cigarette butts, one candy wrapper, two balled- up pieces of paper and a cough-drop box. Much of this debris lay mere feet from a

For when we as photographers cut to the bare essentials of our message through simplification, yet also give context to our subject, we are creating strong impactful images. Images that tell stories and detail how trains pass as a part of the days of our lives, to be sometimes noticed by, but many times lost in the minutiae of everyday life of John Q. Public.