by Ethan Boivie

     Taking the Q train from Sheepshead Bay feels more like riding a train than a subway, as you travel for quite a while before ever venturing underground.  On a pleasant, sunny afternoon, I sat
quietly, along with the few other passengers.  The only voices were a hushed conversation was between the two elderly Chinese women, who sat across the aisle, facing me.  Scanning the car, my neighbors included a black guy a few seats to my left, and three Latin guys, two of whom were slouched and napping, to the left of the old women and their shopping bags.  A veritable sundry conglomeration - eh, not so good, but I still hope to replace "Benetton ad" with something... 

     As the conversation between the women had simmered, one decided not to waste this chance to engage in a societal good.  Having produced nail clippers, she proceeded to start clipping her fingernails right there in our subway car!  I soon noticed that my mouth was agape, and lifted my heavy jaw closed, offering myself protection from the shards that shot out in every direction.  In awe of this display, I slowly gauged the reaction of my fellow potential victims.  The coherent of the Latin guys, clearly a veteran of such hostile fire, nearly half-smiled back, shrugging his shoulders with his eyes.  Continuing reconnaissance, I turned to my left, and witnessed, to my further amazement, that the black guy had decided to take full advantage of this golden opportunity that he had nearly missed: he was clipping his nails also!  Bombarded on all sides, I had little recourse but to recoil and hope for the best.  Alas, my ally in normalcy was not so lucky: he was struck by a piece of shrapnel just below the right shoulder.  Had his jacket not already been blood-red, it would have deeply stained.  With the dexterity of a surgeon, and determination of a condemned man, the brave soldier contorted his body, somehow removing the biological weapon from his person.  I never saw that virtuous soul again, and cannot attest to his fate.  I, myself, was fortunate to escape with only psychological trauma.

Ethan Boivie is a retired rocket scientist and writer/editor of a variety of opera.