The Metrocards holding unuseable amounts were starting to fill up my wallet, so I ducked into the 6 station at 33rd to run the cards through the reader. Alas, the reader could read none of my three existing Metrocards, which means it’s not much of a “reader” at all.

Resigned to hauling $1 Metrocards around for the next decade, I turned to leave when I was stopped by a young woman.

She was brunette, about 30, English, not too bad teeth and, curiously, a sling on her left arm.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Should I take the subway to Grand Central, or can I walk?”

I told her it was only about 10 minutes on foot, that she should be able to walk no problem. She didn’t seem convinced, seemingly quite sure Grand Central was further away.

We climbed the stairs and I pointed to Grand Central off on the horizon. She squinted toward the end of Park Avenue South.

“See the Met Life Building?” I said.

“Yes.”

“See the ornate statue on the limestone building beneath it?”

“Yes.”

“That’s Grand Central.”

“Oh, I can walk that,” she said with a laugh. “That won’t take ten minutes.”

I joked about Wizard of Oz and the big poppy field, how it was further than it looked.

Because sometimes it’s fun to talk to tourists, especially when they speak English, I asked her if she was catching a train at Grand Central.

“No,” she said in the thick lower-England accent. “I’m going to visit the nooyyyce food shops.”