There is something about the press of fresh, cold air against your face as you walk out of a stuffy metro station. It’s like the first breath of air after being underwater for a while. One would assume that after a few months, we would be used to navigating the Italian metro, but the pungent smells of body odor and constant paranoia of pocket thieves never became familiar to us. We had been in the tunnels for half an hour, swimming our way through the hundreds of tourists and locals to reach our final destination. “We should have just taken an Uber,” Morgan muttered after being shoved out of the way by a hurried Italian businessman. Despite our resentment towards the metro, we found ourselves on the cramped little trains for what felt like the thousandth time.
I kept my eyes focused on my feet as I climbed the worn stairs out of the tunnel, concentrating on not slipping on any ice in the midst of the bustling crowd around me. Morgan tugged the sleeve of my jacket. “Look,” she said, pointing to the sky. I was instantly overwhelmed by my surroundings.