By Fathi Afifi
Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me.
Nobody listens anymore. Nobody cares to give me some elbow room. Nobody fits, actually.
The metro doors swish open and closed, the square-gummed jaws of some train-resembling animal, and if you’re lucky enough to be devoured within—then, well, you’re lucky. You’ll go where you need to go. You’ll make that dentist appointment, that afternoon philosophy class, that museum tour, that executive business meeting. If the train-beast doesn’t swallow you, sucks to be you.
Or, me, in this case.
I look at the doors, considering. Confounded if I do, confounded if I don’t. Would I like to be suffocated like a blue-suited sardine in the midst of other mustached blue-suited sardines, sardine-smells emitting from their mouths or from their arms as they raise their hands to clasp the rails? Or would I like to wait out here for another endless ten minutes until the next train comes, probably also jam-packed with human sardines? The options are delightful either way, and I try not to show my exhilaration.
I decide to make a run for it, because my dentist is waiting today. A fellow blue-suited sardine tries to wiggle in beside me. We hold our breaths and latch onto the people around us as the train-beast shudders and bucks forward. A great start to a great day! I close my eyes and try not to think about long, painful, fearsome-looking dentist drills.
"Angreek87"
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