The disembarking from the Amtrak is an ascension into the living, if you could call a ride on a SEPTA train that. Up two flights of stairs from the train to SEPTA, and up two more flights of stairs to street level a stop later, it feels as if you are rising to some "other"-ness. The climbing into 30th Street Station can take my breath away when I remember to look up at the towering ceiling when I climb the stairs. It is a monument to movement and industry, celebrating the hard-working rushing through on their commute. It is the perfect protestant cathedral.
Sometimes I plug into my iPod and turn on Peter Gabriel while I join the streams of people:
"The time I like is the rush hour, 'cause I like the rush. The pushing of the people, I like it all so much. Such a nice emotion, do not know where it goes. I move with the movement, and...I have the touch"
Indeed, I do have the touch, but only because I tap into the electricity pulsing through the city. It charges me; it recharges me. My heart races and my mind crackles.
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