God hides on subway lines

There I am, looking to the rails from the platform, considering if I’d ever jump in front of a running train. Thinking if the thousand volts on the third rail might make the world of stocks, bonds, foreign currency disappear forever. It probably would, but I got a Playstation and a cozy armchair waiting for me at home. It’s not worth the jump.

But a small girl, looking like Russian, is staring at the tracks, just like I was. Now, she’s the focus of my eyes. You know the type: blonde as a canary, legs long as the Empire State Building, Eyes blue as a summer sky in the Hamptons. And Russian, of course. She resembles one of those tennis players whose name sound like a vodka brand.

And she’s staring at the tracks with a crazy look in the deep blue eyes. I’m starting to worry. Is she thinking suicide thoughts? Did I have that same look a few minutes ago? Barely have time to do anything and the Q train approaches. The whistle of metal against metal and the wind on the platform.

She takes one step forward. I know. And she looks at me, just a glance. And she knows I know. We both know and are in it together. I jump towards her and my body is so much stronger than hers. She is leaning forward the train and an old lady screams “Oh my God”. A young latino couple shouts “fuck” in unison.

Her body and mine, now one single human being, barely miss the train. We just bump in the lateral and the engineer hits the breaks as fast as he cans. When the train stops, we’re bruised, we’re bleeding, but we’re alive. People aorund scream, some even cry. I do nothing like that. Neither does she. We just look at each other. And I ask her why. In a Russian accent, she simply says: “’Cos god hides on subway lines”.