The mechanized whir of a slow moving escalator belt - punctuated wth percussive clicks and shrieks of squealing metal - plays an odd metered rhythm that my mind can't quite grasp. I slow my breathing and lean in to listen more intently, my fingers tap reflexively, my neck moves involuntarily. I feel myself rocking back and forth as the machines play their vamp -- seemingly monotonous and unending. As I stride, I try clumsily to step in sync with the rhythm of these moving parts. I fumble until I realize that one step must be made shorter than the others in order to keep time. Without mercy, the rhythm dictates how my body must react. I discover that the meter isn't "odd" at all - it is just uneven: a beautiful, broken, uneven shape. Each time it cycles around, I admire its beauty more and more.
More than once, I ask myself "Who built this?"