Monday morning blues

Monday morning, first day of work after the holidays. I see bleary eyed people all around. Cramped in the subway like sardines squished together. Squish squish. My crotch is frighteningly close to a gentleman’s bald spot, my fingers desperately inched for the railings, my elbow is hitting someone’s stomach and my back is pressed against the door. Open. Close. Openclose. Open. For the love of God, please let this train move. A burly man rushed onto the train, a couple of cars ahead of mine. You can hear shoving. Then shouts. “Get the fuck off!” The doors won’t close. The big fellow is pushing his way in. “Listen prick, get the fuck off!” “Shut the fuck up!” he replied, but some people had pushed him out of the car. There was no room. I can smell the deodorant on the girl next to me. “What the fuck! Screw you guys!” he screamed, and a stream of profanities followed, like lava oozing from the mountains. Someone called for the police. The people around me groaned and glanced at their watches. To no avail. The car stood still. Then shrill whistles came from behind and the people further inside my car craned their necks to see. Two uniformed security guards jaunted slowly up towards the yelling, but when they got there, the interloper had already left. A couple of moments passed, then the subway slowly creaked and pushed its way into the gaping tunnel. Monday morning and I climbed up the slick stairs at the Columbus Circle stop. It was raining, and you can see the puddles on the ground, rainbowed by the oil and waste of the city. Four blocks. Four blocks and it starts again.