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Eighth of the Eighth.
Walking down the stairs to the subway platform, a group of what I assume are tourists are standing right at the bottom, talking and not moving. The train's pulling in and I don't have time to think: I tap my knuckles against the back of the one right in front of me like I'm knocking on a door.
Amazingly, it works perfectly.
What also worked perfectly was twice tonight, getting into the station and to the platform within a minute of the train pulling in, where I walked down or walked up and it's arriving just as I am. It's now something where I have to stop saying it never happens and go to saying it almost never happens. Because it's now happened at least once.
Amazingly, it works perfectly.
What also worked perfectly was twice tonight, getting into the station and to the platform within a minute of the train pulling in, where I walked down or walked up and it's arriving just as I am. It's now something where I have to stop saying it never happens and go to saying it almost never happens. Because it's now happened at least once.