By the time he gets the train rolling again, it's seven minutes behind schedule. His head feels as if it's filling up with helium. Pillars flash by like tiger stripes before his eyes. He forgets where he is for a few seconds and when he comes to again, the tracks are curving and Ernest, the conductor, is announcing the next stop is Fourteenth Street. John doesn't remember Thirty-fourth.
Brake shoes scream on rusty corroded tracks.
The car rocks dangerously from side to side. Ghost stations, local stops, graffiti swirls, work crews. They all go rocketing by. His eyes barely have time to register them. There's too much going on.