Jola Fallach
It was Sunday; one of those last lazy days of winter when Spring starts giving signs of its readiness to show its full beauty. Small, yellow crocuses on my mind that I saw just before in the park, I peacefully strode toward the tube station, barely noticing that I was leaving daylight for underground. Rather absent-mindedly, I took the step into the elevator, glazing over the other people that also absent-mindedly let the running monster slowly swallow them down. Few, probably with more energy, walked down, passing by the lethargic majority: hurrying in the UK is pretty unusual, especially on such a day. Then, the sudden rush broke into the murmur of the engines; someone was dashing down the elevator. Those, who turned back their heads - and I did it, too - witnessed a young man galloping on the moving steps in a great hurry. Breathlessly, we gaped at his long legs storming down the moving stairs without missing a single step, and when the legs disappeared everyone was relieved - he did it and did not break a leg. Well done!
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