It was
Saturday night, late, probably around midnight. The
house was full; its peak of occupancy had been reached much earlier in the day, making movement difficult.
Several of
us needed to get away, just for a little while, so we craftily found each other amidst the throngs of
noders, and slowly drifted away from the main group.
It took about 20 minutes of walk and blab for us to reach our destination. From atop a bridge it was possible to see train tracks leading into a dark, mysterious tunnel. JP and I had been there earlier in the course of the weekend, and had been frightened off by the sounds of giant hammers forging some nefarious machinery deep in the walls of the tunnel. But this time we had no fear for the odd reasoning that there is safety in numbers.
With this reassurance, we clambered down a dusty hill to the tracks. Chris immediately took on the lead, a solitary being tramping down a path, blazing a trail for all the rest of us. Everyone splits up, running along different rails, taking pictures of others doing the same, more photos of graffiti covered walls. We reach the end of the tunnel. Souvenirs are taken. More pictures. Fireworks are lit and dance along the tracks briefly until puttering out in the rocky bed. The red lighting and mysterious, intermittent noises lend a sketchy atmosphere to the proceedings. Eventually, Chris forges on ahead once more, and we are forced to catch up. This time his intrepid] wanderings have led to a construction site. More opportunities to be naughty arise. Photos flare as we climb aboard an empty bulldozer. Poses are struck; hanging from different parts of the machine, everyone stuffed into the cab, playing with the controls, dramatic spy photography with water pistols and cocked heads. To top if off, I proudly paste an Edmund is timid sticker on the neck of the bulldozer. We have left our mark.
We leave the construction site at last, and make our way back through the tunnel. The other side brings us to an area underneath the roads above. Pillars are scattered throughout the area with tracks twisting around, heading off in different directions. I am reminded of disturbing scenes from a movie I had recently seen. We are mostly silent as we explore the secrets the darkness has to offer. I had run out of film earlier, and was attempting to memorize as much as I could before it was over. Juan found a pair of mismatched shoes lying amidst the rubble. Ponderings over the origin of said shoes are interrupted by the noise of a train approaching in the distance. We all assemble by the tracks in time to see an empty freight train come speeding by. Despite the velocity at which it was traveling it seemed entirely possible to grab a hold of the side ladders and leap aboard. Somehow we resist this temptation, and settle for more pictures. Shortly after, it is agreed that we must end our ramble among the tracks and rejoin the party from whence we had come. A most pleasant interlude indeed.