It’s rush hour on a Monday and the tube is packed. I’m heading back to Oxford Square Station to grab my bags from a friend’s office before heading to Heathrow. The transportation authority promises larger elevators that conserve energy. But for now, the masses collect in front of old lifts waiting to leave. I opt for the stairs. There is a warning sign saying it’s the equivalent of 15 stories and one ought to just wait for the elevators. Like many here, I am impatient and in a hurry for whatever reason. I attempt to climb with several other breathless individuals to the detriment of my thighs. For a brief moment, the handful of us that make the climb connect on our shared pain. For a brief moment, I feel like one of them.