Its almost surreal. The metro glides through the city on a nameless august morning. The sky is shrouded in gray clouds and the air is saturated with humidity that fuzzies long range vision. Or maybe it is raining, but I can't tell. The world outside must have noise, but in here it is quiet as a tomb. There are people here, strangers, bound by the code of civility to maintain silence in public. I look at their faces and I know there are as many worlds as there are people, that each of these strangers hangs delicately like an acrobatic spider at the centre of its own intricately patterned web.