Tell Me If It's Chilly Outside

A voice comes over the PA system. “Due to an earlier incident at 59th Street,” the conductor growls, “Masked men will be entering the train on both sides to collect your personal belongings. Please remain calm. We apologize for the delay.”

Before the speaker has finished crackling the doors slide open on either side to reveal short, brown-skinned men in lucha libre masks. They are the size and shape of Mesoamericans (hopefully the peace-loving kind) and move with the quiet grace of trained valets. The passengers unload their wallets, journals, day calendars and housekeys.

When the masked men are finished with their collection, the train’s sliding doors open to let them back out. It dawns on you that 59th Street is a particularly good location for purposes of collection because there is wide clearance on either side of the train, as well as darkness.

Four minutes go by before anyone moves an inch. When the train starts back up, passengers check their bags and pockets to make sure nothing is left. One woman’s hand closes upon a forgotten housekey, and she nervously withdraws it, bending down and dropping the key on the train floor as she pretends to tie a laceless shoe.

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