Savannah Bradley
Bio
Stories (1/0)
Snowfield
Lenny knew that the M train would ruin her life. She’d made a point to wake up ten minutes earlier — an extra ten minutes to get down her eight-floor walkup and make it past the turnstile, where she was harangued by MTA workers for skipping the line. Lenny liked efficiency: she counted station stops; the scuffling of feet across the terrazzo tile; the number of times people’s oily hands touched the poles, all cold and chrome. She skipped lines. She skimped on change. She kept earbuds in and pouted, her face as blank as a donut, so no one would itch to start a conversation. There was a deliberate, necessary art to maintaining time in the city; Lenny felt she needed to invent more of it. And yet the train was always late.
By Savannah Bradley3 years ago in Geeks