The best part of riding the L when it goes express isn’t getting somewhere faster. It’s watching the faces of the poor saps on the platforms grow hopeful as the train slows for a few brief moments. They step forward gathering and shifting, trying to be the first to reach the spots they think the doors will land. They trail along a few yards like puppy dogs and you look out the door window as if you are waiting to get off at this station.
Their necks reach out, (like the extra inch closer to the door will make a difference) eyes widen, and brows raise (if they could just get the attention of someone inside the carriage, it will just stop for them). And just as they are about to stop for the doors, the driver gets clearance from the next station and the train starts to speed up.
You make eye contact with the platform bound, stuck like ants on a floating turd. They express at first confusion. Why aren’t they stopping? Then frustration. Oh for fuck’s sake just stop already. And finally saddened realization.
Your lips form a smile you nod at them and give them the finger. Gotcha.
Lean against the Plexiglas and chuckle to yourself
Suckers.
