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.
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