A man on my train kept crowding women out of their seats and telling them to stand. My plan taught him a lesson, but he never stopped glaring at me afterward. As my stop approached, I got a sinking feeling that he was going to make me regret what I’d done.
I’d been looking forward to the train ride: a seat, my book, and nobody needing anything from me until I got home.
Four minutes in, I was reading the same sentence without taking it in.
He sat across from me, broad and well dressed, in a crisp navy coat. His knees spread into the seats on either side. Both women beside him had their legs angled away from his.
I’d been looking forward to the train ride
The one on his left was young and held a toddler asleep against her shoulder.
She kept shifting, trying to make herself smaller. It wasn’t working.
