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thigh-length orange dress with my brown and floral print sandals. The sandals were comfortable
and it was a good idea to wear them. The plan was to walk about three blocks to the
Underground train station, ride the train to Dalston, and walk to Arcola Theatre. The ride would
be four stops in total with one change over to another train line. At Dalston Junction, the group
would get off and walk half a block and turn left on Ashwin Street. The theatre would be located
in the bend of the street.

As the group set off down Whitlock Street, I noticed I was getting far behind the group. I
attributed this to my dramatic difference in height to the group. I am only four feet and eleven
inches. I tried my best to keep up. My activities from earlier in the day were beginning to catch
up with me. I instantly became exhausted trying to keep up. When I no longer saw my
classmates, I began to worry. I picked up my pace and saw one of my classmates going toward
the escalator. There was a tall man in front of me and he obscured my vision. I caught a glimpse
of my classmate as I entered the main gates. The gates were tall and captivating. The deep
charcoal steel zigzags made me feel as if I were entering into a dark maze. I kept thinking to
myself how it would feel to be trapped in the Underground. To be stuck in those 154-year-old
corridors would be a nightmare. I needed to catch up.

As I approached the escalator my anxiety kicked in again. I found myself counting the
escalator steps as they shot out like large paper staples ejecting from the floor. The speed was
faster than any escalator I had ever rode. After about fifteen seconds of counting staples, I stuck
my foot out and landed on a step. When I arrived at the bottom, I looked for my classmate that I
had just saw descend from the escalator. She was nowhere to be found.

On the wall, I spotted an Underground train map showing the next stops. I remembered
my professor saying something about the Northern line and I took the steps downstairs to

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