THE middle-aged woman with the black cardigan around her shoulders had assumed a balanced and meticulously calibrated posture: feet shoulder-width apart, arms slightly bent, fists loosely clenched, muscles relaxed yet alert. Like a crouching tiger coiled to spring.She was not preparing for a Tae-Kwon-Doh! bout, but 'assuming the position' and performing her personal version of the daily underground battle that is engaged by millions of New Yorkers: reading, intently, on a sardine-can D train hurtling swiftly toward Brooklyn in the evening rush. Without holding on (physically, not mentally).
“I am a New Yorker,” the woman barked, as if those five well spat words explained everything. “I can do anything on the subway and I do.” 'Excuse me! I think this is where I get off now!' I said, holding on very tightly, mentally!
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