Every door on the uptown 4 train was clogged with people getting off and more people trying to get on; I ran past one car after another till I could see one with just a few people in side. The doors slammed shut. But then they opened for me again. Mercy! But then I knew why it wasn’t packed. The woman covering her face with her scarf confirmed it.
A pair of figures in baggy sweatpants running up the Metropolitan station’s incline for the Canarsie-bound L train. I’m sprinting after them, book in one hand and pen in the other. We arrive at the last car just when the doors shut. For a couple seconds, the train doesn’t move. Then it drives on.
When I put my box of sweet potato fries on the table, my friend knew exactly which place they’d come from.
Second Slope 