Underground death

I was going through old journals and I found this text, from 17th of May, 2002, London.
Thought it was funny.

Stuck in a sweaty tube. Imagine if we were to be stuck here forever. For all eternity we would sit and stare at each other. Days and nights would pass, but down here the flourescent light would give us an artificial light around the clock. The make up would vapour in the heat, the shirts would get wrinkly and the nails would grow so long they'd start to curl. The clean shaved men would involuntary grow beards and day out and day in we would sit, strangers, face to face.
No one would talk to anyone, most people would look up at the tube map to see how much was left of their journey. Out of habit. The cell phones doesn't work so out of pure annoyment the men in suits would shake their little technical toys, in hope of them letting out a beep or two. Little by little everybody would start to forget about the world outside. How does gasoline smell? What season was it? What is my brother's name? Do I have a brother?
Eventually we would fade away, pale and hollow, but firmly clutching our purses.

Thousand years later they would make an archeological expedition and dig up the train, filled with sitting, fully dressed skeletons.
They would ask themselves: "What actually happened here? Why did these people choose to sit still and await death, instead of fighting for their lives? Why didn't they break out?"

And nobody would be able to give a satisfying answer.