A thin blond woman with a nice handbag tries to thrust me aside with her yoga arms to no affect whatsoever. She stutter steps, without even looking at me, then goes around me as I make my way out, and I think, with some unwarranted measure of New York bravado, "Lady, if you try to walk through me, you're gonna bounce."
Nulla dies sine linea. Four sentences every day. About whatever happened that day. Most of it's even true. Written by Scott Lee Williams
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
I'm Just Bigger Than You
The doors open at Grand Central onto the usual cave of the subway platform, and we who are inside the train trying to get out are confronted by that grim wall of those on the outside of the train trying to get in, thus beginning the daily negotiation slash passive-aggressive war of us pushing past them to get out while they push in. Sometimes you get a crowd that has learned basic subway etiquette that stands aside to let us out, but today is, apparently not one of those days, and a small dark haired woman in front of me who hesitates for the briefest of moments provides just the breach needed for the hordes to begin their incursion, and what was an orderly exchange, like osmosis, devolves into a shoving match.
A thin blond woman with a nice handbag tries to thrust me aside with her yoga arms to no affect whatsoever. She stutter steps, without even looking at me, then goes around me as I make my way out, and I think, with some unwarranted measure of New York bravado, "Lady, if you try to walk through me, you're gonna bounce."
A thin blond woman with a nice handbag tries to thrust me aside with her yoga arms to no affect whatsoever. She stutter steps, without even looking at me, then goes around me as I make my way out, and I think, with some unwarranted measure of New York bravado, "Lady, if you try to walk through me, you're gonna bounce."
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