She’s waiting on the other side of the door, we’re waiting on our side of the door. We’re patient, because the car’s here now, and there’s nothing else to do but wait. The subway runs through its chimes: a sound to announce its arrival, a sound to announce that it’s about to leave. But the door doesn’t open, even though we’ve been waiting so patiently. Inside the train, the woman bangs on the plexiglass, to let the subway know that she’s waiting. But the car misinterprets: it thinks she means giddyup, like a cowboy patting the shanks of someone else’s horse. When the next car comes, we’re all a little nervous. Will the doors open, or won’t they? Are doors meant to open? Doesn’t our patience mean something? Does it mean anything?

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