On my way to the 14th Street station.
The C train pulls into 42nd street.
Some poor soul leaps from the platform onto the tracks in front of our train.
The reason I know this is because when the train stopped, the doors didn't open. Instead, we were stuck inside while the people on the platform screamed in horror or covered their mouths in disbelief, all staring at our train.
A large black family inside the train became hysterical and, thanks to their matron's knack at reading lips through the windows of the subway car doors, in a moment we all knew what had happened.
Carnage and chaos swirled around us as we all stood there, locked in our subway car, knowing that somewhere under our street-worn shoes, there was a mangled body.
Merry Christmas!
3 comments:
Yaaaaaaay...
... uhhhhh...
Good Lord! Aren't you tired of that hellish hotbead of death and despair yet?
When will you come back to happy, shiny Everycity, where the people never hurl themselves in front of mass transit vehicles and the air is relatively free from the stench of stale urine?
Seriously, your cat misses you, and I need you to help me break into the voiceover business.
Forky come home!
And no, I'm not sure what a "hotbead" is, but I know you live in one!
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