I'm on the train, contemplating.
You see, I've just done something a bit out of character.
As I was shuffling, bleary-eyed toward the turnstile, I noticed a woman on crutches wearing a leg brace that looked like it weighed more than her, and I thought, "that must have been hell to get up the steps with," but stayed on autopilot. People irritate me at this time of day.
As I descended the steps, I heard an odd noise. A sort of dragging, mechanical staccato of thuds. The only thing missing was the occasional but metered hiss of a pressure valve. Being the incurable nerd I am, I simply had to turn around to see what that was.
It was crutch lady.
Trying to negotiate a twenty foot staircase.
Wielding a leg brace much like a knotted sock wields the dog that's found it.
I couldn't help myself.
The terminal smartass in me offered a piggyback ride.
As you'd expect in the city, so was I that she'd maybe grin, and pleasantly decline, having at least that modicum of amusement to brighten her day a bit.
But that isn't what happened.
She looked at me with these big, brown, somewhat sad eyes and nearly whispered a plaintive "please?"
... yeah.
So I just carried a woman whose leg brace was trying to eat her, crutches and all, down the steps.
And she was nice enough to hold my coffee for me while I did it.
Why?
No idea.
But isn't that ultimately the point?
