I’ve got about 90 seconds to get from Pershing Square to Track 107 for the 5:27.
Some serious Pershing Square dancing is going on as we wait for the light to turn.
There are a dozen of us waiting under the overpass, then 15, then 20.
One guy sneaks across, alive.
The perpendicular lights on 42nd finally go yellow. Cars stream by. Two seconds pass. Cars slow down.
We commuters, 25 strong, break across 42nd.
Suddenly a siren sounds, and an NYPD car comes barrelling through 42nd, just missing a few of us that were fronting the commuter pack. One guy yells, raises his hand to smack the car, and pulls back at the last moment.
The driver is a woman, dark brown hair, dark skin. Sunglasses, despite the overcast day. The car is #1962.
The driver rolls her head back and laughs; the lady riding shotgun has a smile on her face too.
We head across the rest of 42nd, to our trains.
The cops rolls west on 42nd, to their fake emergency.