Empty Cars

 

“So on my way here,” I said to my brother as we shared a Nachos Gonzalez, “I was just sitting in the subway when all of a sudden, a long line of people moved from the car ahead of mine into my car. They didn’t seem panicked or anything. They didn’t seem like they knew each other, either.”

“Not break dancing or asking for money or playing some instrument?”

“Nope. I could not figure it out. After a couple stops, though, the door between the cars opened again, and a man walked in who smelled worse than anything I had smelled in my life. He must have pooped himself. He just passed straight through the car and went to the other side.”

“Which subway line?”

“The N.”

“Huh.”

“Anyway, he passed through our car and then stopped in the next car, and suddenly those people were streaming into our car, of course. So by the next stop, the car he was on was totally empty.”

“Of course.”

“But the funniest—well, funny may not be the right word—but the funniest part was when we stopped. A couple of people had raced down the stairs and had just barely squeezed in the subway doors before it took off. Their poor little faces went from elated to sick in an instant.” I paused for a chip. “Of course, it’s really very sad, you know. That man. It just seems like there is something profound that I’m missing about it all.”

“Don’t get on an empty subway car.”