I’m hustling down the steps toward the 6 train under Grand Central.
I see the train on the platform, doors open like the arms of a hardy wife after a farmer’s long day in the fields. (It’s early, I’ll work on that metaphor.)
In front of me is man lugging a giant television, like a 29-incher, big as a boulder, down the steps. He staggers and weaves like he just took one on the chin from Kimbo Slice.
It’s not TV Guy that blocks my path down the stairs–no matter where he situates himself on the stairs, there’s room to pass.
It’s his support staff–three friends in front of him, ready to catch the TV should he drop it.
The 6 shuts the doors and takes off.
[image: open2.net]