“Excuse me,” she finally said. “Could you move your leg?”
“I’m a big guy.”
He barely glanced up from his phone.
“Could you move your leg?”
“Your knee is in my seat.”
“Then move over.”
“There’s nowhere to move.”
He smirked. I watched it happen, and my stomach tightened.
“Then stand.”
I lowered my book.
“Then move over.”
The young woman stared at the floor, jaw tight, and I felt ashamed of how long I’d spent hoping someone else would say something.
Two stops later she got off, the toddler’s sock dangling from her hand.
A tiny elderly woman with a cane took the seat.
She wore a mustard-yellow coat and a hat with a small brass pin.
Two stops later she got off
She kept one hand on her cane while she lowered herself, feeling for the seat with the other.
Within seconds, his knee pressed into her coat.
