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'A long stretch of rubber flooring lines the entrance to Mount Druitt train station, encased on both sides by graffitied glass. Hordes of early risers dash across in a mad bid to make the 7am train. I know it well because I am in the throng, having calculated the exact amount of time required to make it from my bus stop to the platform. The claustrophobic hallway always feels too long and too narrow, as if it were specifically designed to shuttle us all into a race where the victor is awarded first access to one of four opal card readers. A momentary but palpable transition takes place once I have passed through the automatic gates. As if willed by the chorus of tapped-on Opal cards, I am transported into the role of commuter, beholden to the moral and temporal boundaries that constitute the station. It is not a space that invites idling but rather a vestibule for getting from Point A to Point B.' (Introduction)
