Beneath B.'s concrete, there's still concrete. These are the foundations of the elevated metro, a subterranean universe, secret and silent, especially when compared with the world above. There are solids, hollows, columns, beams, walkways, pulleys, toothed wheels, and a lot of gray. There beats the heart of the machine, and if you think about it, that of the city. For up there, on the upper floor, passengers glide, fleetingly, toward their daily destiny.

 

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