This is Diversey.

The slightly agonized swoosh of opening doors.

The verbose drunk man sitting behind me keeps talking, with hardly a pause, about the Super Bowl; how he keeps getting caught drinking on the job; how people should be allowed to do what they like on the weekend, because they deserve it, after all, don’t they? They’ve worked hard and they deserve it, don’t they? and how he should have gotten the job the older guy left, but his boss wanted to keep an eye on him, keep him out of trouble, because he got caught drinking, drinking, you know? and he’s drinking right now! He laughs heartily as though he’s sharing the joke with everyone on the train.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep. Beep-beep-beep—

A high chime, then a low chime, like an electronic cuckoo.

Doors closing.

The stuttering swoosh of doors again.

A low, barely perceptible hum awakens into a buzz and then a roar. A metal panel in front of me rattles.

Belmont is next. Doors open on the left…at Belmont. Transfer to Red and Brown Line trains…at Belmont.

BUMP-bump.

“four eighty-nine. four eighty—”

BUMP-bump.

BUMP-bump.

The roar quiets down a bit.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep. Beep-beep-beep—

The buzz dies down to a hum.

CLUNK.

This is Belmont.—

Stuttering swoosh of doors, whoosh of entering wind.

—Transfer to Red and Brown Line trains…at Belmont.

The drunk man has left the train, and there is a sudden silence behind me.

A pause, then a distant low rumble.

“This is a PURPLE LINE TRAIN to Linden. A PURPLE LINE TRAIN to Linden. Next stop is Howard.”

High chime, low chime. Doors closing.

The doors rattle closed.

CLUNK. Rumble…hum…buzz…roar.

BUMP-bump.

Clattering panels.

“Six cars at Adams and Wabash. Nine seventy-five.”

BUMP-bump.

“Twenty-eight.”

BUMP-bump. BUMP-bump.

The roar continues evenly. Every so often, there is a whooosh followed by a rattle as we turn a corner. With so much rich sound to live on, I wonder, with my eyes closed, what money is really good for.