After Tuesday morning saw an elderly gent tossed into the gap like yesterday’s Post, we almost saw a repeat performance on the 5:27 home. The train was an old one, the type typically found on the New Haven Line. It was packed, and it was hot–not all that much different from the 90 and humid outside.
A towering old guy got on at 125th. He wore shorts and a white t-shirt that said Boston–America’s First Subway, with a map of the various T lines on it. He wore thick, all-enveloping sunglasses, like Bono as The Fly. He was accompanied by what looked like his son, an uptight man of about 45, and the son’s wife.
There were no seats, so the three stood in the vestibule. Within seconds, the old man was bobbing and weaving, and threatening to fall.
Someone walked over and offered to help find a seat. The son shook his head and said they’d take care of it. They did, ushering the old fella into the end seat of a six-seater. His head lolled back and forth, but they fed him chocolate chip cookies and he snapped back to life.