Standing shoulder to shoulder, smushed together like sardines on a silver bullet that travels 55 mph from either end of the city, a “whoosh” falls upon your ears. The doors open and a school of passengers part the sea of those waiting to board. As you funnel out unto the boarding platform, the strong, unmistakable scent of urine wafts through your nostrils.
Ah, good ol’ public transportation. It may not be the cleanest or most consistent way to get from point A to B, but it has taught me what it means to be free.