Sometimes there is one; sometimes it’s an entire chorus. Sometimes there are grunted responses, sometimes there are friendlier “oh, that’s okay”s. Sometimes it’s a child too short to hold on, sometimes it’s an old lady too short to hold on. Sometimes it’s a simple stutter-step; sometimes the aftermath includes bottoms on laps where they have no business being.
Powerless, your feet shuffle of their own accord. You learned about curves and friction in physics: it’s a no-win situation. The best you can do is hold tight.
That winding turn heading uptown from Grand Central: it gets someone every time.
Writing in Transit is a recurring series of 100-word stories based on my experiences on the subway. Posted on Fridays, they’re exactly 100 words. I double checked.