Rushing, the alarm rang late.

Rushing through the crowded streets,

Overlooked by billboards screaming,

‘Improve your life!’

Overlooked by the Devil’s towers, Where money is furiously exchanged; Concrete purgatory.

An insignificant suited man runs,

Smelling of train sweat and domestic nagging. He trips on the overpowering steps, Squeezes into the lift.

His absence (or presence) is barely noted.

Rushing, to meet deadlines,

Rushing through bottomless pits of paperwork,

Overlooked by greedy partners waiting for their cut,

‘Improve our lives!’

Overlooked by the Devil in his penthouse tower, An unseen force that drives the pistons; Mechanical purgatory.

An insignificant, tired man runs for his train, His cold wife waits at home for her pay-check. He trips into a cramped window seat, Squeezes in amongst the other ants.

His absence (or presence) is barely noted.

After a time, hell is left behind,

Gentle movements float through his worn soul, His eyes hang heavy, until a kindly jolt rouses him.

No longer a city train, but an empty carriage, Adorned with the finer seat of years gone by. Heaving to a restful stop, he sees a small town, Previously unnoticed.

‘Langafel’ the guard calls, ‘Langafel.’

Serenity reigns in this paradise;

An open park where ladies talk as their white parasols swirl, children run barefoot.

Games of years gone by; kicking a ball, jumping a rope.

Screaming yellow taxis replaced by plodding horses drawing carts.

A band plays softly on the stand.

Serenity is abandoned as the train pulls away, Jolted viciously he wakes again.

Rushing to his cramped apartment and cross wife.

Rushing in his attendance to bills,

Overlooked by an angry woman complaining!

‘Improve our lives!’

Overlooked by the Devil incarnate.

Words are furiously exchanged and his stomach knots,

Physical purgatory.

An insignificant suited man rushes to work, An insignificant suited man oils the machinery, An insignificant desperate man dreams of Langafel.

Rushing to his waiting train hoping for a glimpse,

Rushing, overcome with fatigue,

No longer wanting a city life,

His eyes close,

He waits.

‘Langafel!’

The words rouse him soothingly. ‘Langafel!’

He gazes as life slows down, Heaven in a nostalgic postcard.

Serenity in its purest form greets him;

Two boys laugh as they pass with home-made fishing rods,

Brass instruments hum notes from his childhood, Horses mooch about the cobbled streets, As genteel women stroll elegantly in the park.

Serenity is abandoned as the train pulls away, Jolted viciously he wakes again.

Rushing home, his ears close to the nagging of his wife.

Rushing to work, his eyes close to the stream of ants. No longer wanting a city life, He makes a choice.

‘Langafel,’ the guard calls.

The guard stops, gazes at the suited man. It is not the suit he wore to the Devil’s Towers, Instead, a tan suit from yesteryear.

‘I believe this is your stop sir!’

Hesitantly the man stands, remembers his name, sees his home, steps out.

Furiously his wife of another era paces,

Waiting.

Doorbell chimes.

Angrily she rushes through her fine furnishings, And answers to two of New York’s finest.

Her husband fell clumsily from the train; killed instantly.

Serenity is abandoned.