Tight Corner

SAMSUNGAs I step inside the train I found myself  squeezed between people of different size and ages.   The strain on my leg muscle suddenly  showed up I have been standing most of the time at work. A man from behind me step forward  hitting my  bulging tote hanging   on my shoulder almost spinning me halfway. I held on to the rail when the train halted to a stop most of us standing were on top of each other. Getting off and on the train were the only movements  that people do. Except for some with personal devices on hand and earphone stuck on their ear, no one was talking. Women together with their friends excited in conversation aren’t out at this time of the day, they usually commute  in the middle of the day  and out by the afternoon rush. Outside the station commuters get free entertainment from aspiring singers belting out pieces from the top ten hits hoping to get a big break  via the subway. In front  of them are their technical accompaniments  and a big empty luggage bag its mouth wide open with a  few singles and coins inside. A man just drop a dollar.  Gone are the days of using small tin cans, as one televangelist said “when you ask from God, go for big not small”,  we are listening. I scour for an empty seat, but no luck, men and women seating comfortably  listening to their devices closing their eyes avoiding each others’, just wanting to get to their own stop. The train stop,  a pretty lady in black high heels step in, shapely legs  even if she was in black tights,  her model like shape body is evident all over, pretty face and lightly made up, she doesn’t really need a make up and will still look pretty. Standing up a few feet away from me, she held onto the horizontal rail  looking out the window a boring scene at the moment until the train  gets out of the tube. I tried to close my eyes, aping the girl sitting  across me, maybe there is something new when my eyes  close.  Suddenly a rush of unpleasant smell filled the air. As I open my eyes I see some people moving away, that pretty lady still there and I, just across her. I stayed calm and looking at them, looking at each other, with our eyes inquiring and accusing.  Like a dog looking for food, we are all silently sniffing I guess,  where the smell came from.  Some went behind me, stayed there, others went behind her, except for the people sitting  there is no place to run.  Someone just clandestinely covered her nose, which I can’t do because my hands are full. The train stop again, door opens,  people get on and off,  and so with the air,  now replaced by the smell of dried up sweat,  gasoline and oil. I step out, walking faster onto the first train where I knew  a seat is available  close my eyes and doze a little  until I get to the last stop. Whatever the smell is something I don’t care as long as I am seated comfortably.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Tight Corner.”


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