I walk through the tunnels, I know them better than anyone else in the city. I know every inch of the dark stone. I know every crack, every chip, every piece of graffiti.
There's no part of the tunnels that I don't know. Or at least I thought I did. One night as I'm walking through the tunnels with the overhead lights flickering.
I reach another stretch of tunnel that I know just as well as the others. That’s when I hear what sounds like jazz music coming from inside the walls. I push on a panel of stone and it opens.
For a few seconds I wonder why I've never discovered this before.
I walk through the door, into a large room with a bar and some tables on one side and a dance floor with a stage where the musicians are sitting.
The strange thing is that all the men and women are wearing clothes that were in style a century ago. I walk up to the bartender, feeling slightly foolish in my t-shirt and jeans.
"What can I get for ya?" He asks.
"I'm fine," I reply taking a seat at the bar.
"Those are some interesting rags you're wearing." he comments as he cleans a glass with a towel.
"Compared to everyone else here, yes they are." I respond. "So why are you guys in these tunnels anyway?"
"Because we don't want the Copper to find us."
"Why? Jazz isn't illegal."
"Maybe so, but giggle water is. Where have you been the past decade?"
"May I ask what year it is?"
"It's 1925, doll."
"Thanks," I reply. And my mind starts to flood with possibilities. Maybe it's April first and I forgot. Maybe I hit my head and now I'm dreaming or hallucinating.
Maybe I somehow accidentally went back in time. Maybe, maybe, maybe, my mind can't stop it's just trying to find a solution. I decide to push those thoughts to the back of my mind.
After asking around I manage to find a spare dress someone brought. I change into it and I join in dancing with some people and talking to others.
After what feels like hours, I get tired so I change back into my clothes and I exit through the wall where I came in. And I'm back in the dark, cold, and graffiti covered tunnels.
The next day, I'm back in the tunnels and I make my way to where the entrance to the bar was and I open the door to find a dust covered speakeasy with old wooden chairs, stools, and tables.
I make my way to the bar where I had sat and talked to the bartender I take a look around the room. There's no sign that the activities of the night before ever happened.
Maybe it had all been in my head, but it had all felt and seemed so real.