BROOKLYN ZOO, terrify
-Old Dirty Bastard
Long on the to-do list, inspecting this deep tunnel vent shaft eventually came due. If you’re looking for an awesome story of sneaking into this place covertly, you’re shit out of luck. If you’re looking for dramatic endings, well then keep on reading there, chesty.
Walking right in and down along the cold hard tracks, we’re impressed by the darkness. Most subway tunnels have at least a few light bulbs. This one has nothing, for what seems like miles. It’s just you, your compadres, the darkness, and the sounds of dripping water pouring in the distance like a chorus of drunken bickering kardashians spreading their legs and rubbing their clits.
What, too much? Please. This is a humid dark wet tunnel, so sexual commentary isn’t just for fun – it’s downright required. Besides, a train could roll up on your ass in seconds down here, flashing your life before your mere mortal eyes.
We arrive at the vent, which is not a place for mere mortals. Indeed, it’s been rather well secured over the years, so you better be a god of escape after entering. There’s no way not to set off the motion sensor at the top of the stairs here, and even if you do, there’s like 3 more on the way up. Every landing has another fucking motion sensor, and did I mention this is a deep, deep tunnel? You may as well just dial up the subway operations center on one of the phones in the tunnel below and tell them you’re doing bad things – because within seconds, they know.
And you, if you’re smart, you know. You know all these sensors must mean there’s something around here that they’re positively obsessed about keeping people like you from getting to see. So you run though the stairs, peering into nooks as you go, and stepping carefully and nerve-rackingly over the dilapidated, collapse-tastic see through catwalks which are perfect for blowing large gusts of wind upward as trains rip buy below at upwards of 60mph.
Click Click Click. Flash Flash Flash. There’s no available light here. You don’t come here to take artsy photos. You do however come here to take photos of art – which it seems is exactly what they don’t want you to get to see. This place has a lot of it – left over relics from when this vent shaft was a hangout spot for anyone with the brass balls to come down here. The best stuff is now behind a fence, that is strangely well mended, and running from floor to ceiling no less. Talk about obessive security.
Eye on your watch, we know it’s time to go – because there is no time to be down here anymore. Up still more stairs, popping another two sensors as we go. The hatch to the street swings open into the rainy summer sky. On the corner, not 50 feet away, waiting at the traffic light in plain view is an MTA workbum truck.
You stare towards it baffled. Of all the fucking luck… there’s no way they could have gotten here that fast.
And no, they didn’t. A split second later the light changes, and they’re on their way, strangely not having noticed people coming out of the hatch right-fucking-there.
Luck has been pushed far further that on your average night of tunneling already, so we disappear in separate directions into the darkness.
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