The crowd has started to gather. I can barely see ahead of me. It seems that everyone here is at least six feet tall. I hover dangerously close to a million elbows. I keep my head down just in case I get jousted, better on top of the head than the face. It is getting difficult to breath. I keep looking straight up and engulfing as much air as I can before ducking back down into the sea of people. I firmly hold tight to my backpack, confused to whether it helps or hinders my progress. I can feel strangers bumping into the waterproof hump, jolting me left and right but I maintain course. I can see the masses diverting above in a forty five degree upwards angle as they ascend out of the station. I order my heart to calm down, soon enough I too shall step on the escalator to ride out onto thirty fourth street. Penn station is always crowded on weekday evenings. I hate riding into NYC every Friday, having to fight the wave of people rushing to catch their rides at the end of the week as I walk against their tide. But all is well once I step onto the street and into the fresh air. It’s only a three minute journey from the train platform to the seventh avenue exist, but on Friday evenings it seems to take years to emerge from the station. I think about what we are going to do tonight to get my mind to focus on something else then the crowded station. Suddenly I feel the corrugated metal of the escalator, my hand darts to the mechanical handrail to secure my stance as I ride out of Penn station. I smile as my lungs fill with the cool air descending from the street above.