The Rider

She stood shivering, cursing the delay. The two trains before hers had broken down somewhere along the line, so there were hundreds of people waiting anxiously, impatiently, for this train.

If it ever came.

People were starting to feel the strain of the cold, dark Boston morning. Instead of tired smiles and silent toasts with their Starbucks, there was grumbling, jostling, and a general sense of unease.

Finally, headlights could be seen in the distance. A collective contented sigh rose from the platform as the familiar rumble of a million-pound locomotove sounded. The whistle blew a lonely, forlorn sound, and as the train approached, the contented sigh turned to one of frustration.

The train was already full.

When it screeched to a halt, and the doors opened, the woman got swept along with the crowd, and tried to cram in. She made it, but got pushed hard from behind and wound up in the arms of a stranger...

No, this isn't the start of another fan fiction story (I have 6 current ones; I can't possibly start another yet). This was my morning. And the stranger, rather than being a mildly tolerant Richie, was a bitter man who unceremoniously shoved me back into the jostling crowd with a "Watch it, bitch." Nice. I accidentally-on-purpose stomped his loafer with my size-10 shit-kicker boot. Oops.

Ah well, at least it isn't Monday. If my week were just starting out like this, I might have actually murdered somebody.

~ Hath