Subway hell

It is 'rush hour'. The London tube has stopped between Green Park and
Piccadilly.
If you happen to suffer from claustrophobia you are in hell, that's
how jam packed it is.
There is no announcement forthcoming why the 'tube' train
has stalled.
The wait seems interminable, and it is hot and unbearably stuffy.
There is the occasional stoical sigh. Well? they are 'Brits'.
I look around me to see what people might be reading apart from
the evening rag. To my astonishment one six foot sixer has his nose buried
in Orpheus in the Underworld, I ponder is that some message from the
devil that our time has come.  I chastise myself for being hysterical. Anyway who evr
said hysteria was gender specific.
Then I see a prim looking woman  reading, unbelievably, Dante’s Inferno.
Ok, I know I will get banged on the head for pretentiousness
but I actually do think  of TS Eliot's musings on the
London Underground

Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between
stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen . .

Jesus, get me out of here.
The train shudders into motion and we are moving. Thank fuck.
Then there is an announcement.
"Sorry Ladies and Gentlemen for the delay, we will be moving shortly."