We All Fall Down

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Chicago’s Blue Line runs every seven to twelve minutes until 5:00 a.m. and then every three to seven minutes throughout the day. At least, that’s what they tell the commuters. The reality is before six, you might have a long, cold, and even dangerous wait before a train comes along. Wayne Ellison knew that better than anyone. He was a motorman on the Blue Line and, as usual, was running late. To make matters worse, it was his last run of the night, and Wayne wanted nothing more than to get out of the living tomb that was his workplace. His silver L train rolled smoothly down a stretch of subway track between LaSalle and Clinton. Ellison glanced at his speed. Ten percent over the limit. He goosed the throttle. Fifteen percent over the limit. Wayne could feel the grind of wheels on track as the train hit a long, sloping curve. He grabbed the sides of the control board and kept his speed pegged. Just when it seemed like he might have to back off, the train lurched, then straightened out of the bend. Wayne Ellison pulled into Clinton station right on schedule, one L stop closer to punching another day off the clock that was his life underground.

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