The environs of Brixton tube chaotic like a Bruegel painting, urban and edgy? More like Sketchy and frustrating and it takes a strong constitution, to manage the pollution both aural and sensory, constricted with the density of the denizens of the place that fancies itself as "the hub of the city, mean streets dirty and gritty"
The suffocating smog of incense burning while the dealers are earning and the clients, as such they are, retrieve their fix and swiftly exit to set themselves right with a hit or six
The God Squad loudly preach while the pickpockets reach and the unflinching lookout stands guard to signal the approach of an undercover Copper as there are none around in uniform proper.
The slow and the rapid are united by their lack of dental care, one a hurdle one a sprinter, one a Tortoise one a Hare neither of them have a care or realisation, other than the before and after of the injection or inhalation.
While a faceless salesman tries to catch the eye with the intention of nudging your charity conscience, a man befuddled by his addiction passes by speaking stuff and nonsense
Steel drums reverberate and drown out the hands-free swearing, accompanied by the chant of “got any spare change”, a symphony both upbeat yet despairing
The obstacle course is worse in the winter, as the throng shelter and gather in groups unwilling to splinter as you seek your way down toward the escalator, not wanting to stay there a moment later
The escalator's Yellow Brick Road leads to the platform, the point of departure to the destination of home, an escape from the maelstrom, the sights and the sounds, the roar of the crowd, the oppressive cloud that lingers over the environs of Brixton tube.
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having said that;