It was a long time waiting for the trolley. Or maybe it just felt like a long time. I kept walking, backwards to 50th street because it’s warmer walking, and because the further back you get the trolley, the more likely you are to get a seat.
Sometimes someone gets on after me with a baby or some other burden, but I don’t give them my seat. I’m like that in the morning. Not so nice. I feel incapable, although I’m pretty sure that I’m not. I try to keep my face buried in my book or something so that I don’t notice them or so that I could plausibly not have noticed them.
I have hidden from people I know in the morning to avoid having to ride together and make conversation. Including John. If hidden from friends in the bushes, and I hide from John in our own house.
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