Turnstile Bank, Midnight Audit

I found this row of original coin-operated turnstiles during a scheduled inspection window — the station cleared, the overhead fluorescents cycling down to maintenance half-power, that particular greenish amber pooling on the chrome rails and chipped enamel housings. Nobody had touched the paint on the push-bars since the early sixties. I shot from low and level, letting the repetition of the mechanism carry the frame, because the dignity is in the repetition — all that accumulated passage, all those fares, all those mornings.