801. She boarded the train at Brighton Beach. She had her choice of seats. By the time she got off at Seventh Avenue, all she could see were pants and shorts. She had to say "Excuse me" five times just to navigate the six feet to the nearest doors. Four people on the platform impatiently waited for her to step off the train so they could squeeze on. One of them stepped back, ever so slightly, allowing her to set foot on the platform. If the platform had been human, she would have hugged it. She looked back at the train. The doors had closed. The passengers stood like cigarettes in a freshly opened hardpack. The overcrowding looked so much worse when viewed from the platform. She shook her head. She couldn't believe that she had just ridden that train, and that she'd be riding it until the day she retired. 3.6