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           Hetriedanotherticketmachine,withthesamelackofresult.Andanother.TheticketsellerintheofficewasspeakingtosomeoneonthetelephonewhenRichardwentovertocomplainandtobuyhisticketmanually;anddespite—orperhapsbecauseof—Richard’scriesof"Hey!"and"Excuseme!"andhisdesperatetappingontheplasticbarrierwithacoin,themanremainedresolutelyonthetelephone.

           "Fuckit,"announcedRichard,andhevaultedthebarrier.Noonestoppedhim;nooneseemedtocare.Heran,breathlessandsweating,downtheescalator,andmadeitontothecrowdedplatformjustasatraincamein.

           Asachild,Richardhadhadnightmaresinwhichhesimplywasn’tthere,inwhich,nomatterhowmuchnoisehemade,nomatterwhathedid,nobodyevernoticedhimatall.Hebegantofeellikethatnow,aspeoplepushedinfrontofhim;hewasbuffetedbythecrowd,pushedthiswayandthatbycommutersgettingoff,byothersgettingon.

           Hepersisted,pushingandshovinginhisturn,untilhewasalmostonthetrain—hehadonearminside—whenthedoorsbegantohissclosed.Hepulledhishandback,buthiscoat-sleevewastrapped.Richardbegantohammeronthedoor,andtoshout,expectingthedriveratleasttoopenthedoorenoughforhimtofreehissleeve.Butinsteadthetrainbegantomoveoff,andRichardwasforcedtorundowntheplatform,stumbling,fasterandfaster.Hedroppedhisbriefcaseontotheplatform,pulleddesperatelyathissleevewithhisfreehand.Thesleeveripped,andhefellforward,scrapinghishandontheplatform,rippinghistrousersattheknee.Richardclimbed,alittleunsteadily,tohisfeet,thenwalkedbackdowntheplatformandretrievedhisbriefcase.