Thursday on the A

11pm, Thursday night at 14th St on the downtown 8 Av express. The doors open and the conductor runs out of his booth and asks "are you okay?" I turn around and see a businessman, probably in his late 40s, hand to his temple screaming, "the sonova bitch! the sonova bitch got me!" He had blood running from his forehead and staining his neatly pressed white button down shirt. Two or three straphangers had gathered round, including a homeless man mumbling obscenities. Then, two transit cops come strolling over and inquire what happened, only to recieve the same answer the conductor did. The fire department hustles over clutching first aid kits, gloves, and axes. They wave away the conductor, who closes the doors, and we roll away. And I was the only person in the car to even look up from the paper.