It seemed that I got my week off to a good start this morning as I shuffled down to the train- white coat freshly dry cleaned, omelet and tea warm in my belly. I dove back into the 40th Anniversary addition of New York magazine, admitting a few chuckles out loud. At W. 4 my train slowed. Puttered....stopped.
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Twenty minutes eased by, sprinkled with announcements that we'd be moving shortly. Something about smoke at 59th.
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I sparred with the urge to check the time and calculate how late I might be. I turned the pages in my magazine rather non-attentively and took stock of the other passengers. A fairly lax crowd. Few comments were made. The train eased a few feet. Pause. A few more.
At 34th I stepped off. Perhaps I could transfer to the V. Four F trains passed. I peered down the dark tunnel, examined the F map and waited for the fifth F train to slow. A handful of hopefuls were waiting on the B train behind me. A man with an alarmingly orange parka was giving a sermon about men sharing beds with men and the women are just as bad too.
--
"Are there any V's coming?" I smiled to the conductor
.
"No, there is smoke at 59th."
"So Lex and 3rd is out? It's best to walk from Rock?"
"That's what I'd do. Hop on."
At 50th street I scooped up the contents of my Longchamp and hopped up the stairs. I called the office. Jetted over the blocks, across the Avenues...as I rested on the median at Park Avenue- I glanced over to Grand Central and up at the Met Life building.
*Inner monologue* I am running towards the smoke.
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