"That's the third B train that's come," the blonde woman standing nearby on the platform says to me as the subway rumbles into the station. It takes my brain a second to adjust to the notion that a stranger is addressing me in complete sentences (and the mild hangover from last night's party isn't helping) but I feel the gears engage quickly enough that someone not paying too close attention might not notice the momentary gap.
"Yeah, I think it's luck, sometimes," I say. "Sometimes there's no Q for forever, and other times, it's like you come down the stairs and boom: 'Your chariot awaits.'"
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