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  1. savannah says:

    Once I was in a subway and a grown man standing in front of me was pretending to “use the force” to open and close the subway doors. The entire ride he acted like he was using all of his power to hold the doors together and he was telling people “your welcome” as we were leaving the subway.

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  2. josh111 says:

    So, I was with my two best friends and it was extremely late … meanwhile, my mother was going to kill me that i wasn’t home from the city yet (but thats another story). so we go to find the R train and we wait in that nasty staion for 45 minutes, but of course no one informed us that it stopped running two hours ago. fml. so then we walk to the 42nd street staion and get on the 1 train to get to the south ferry and the train comwes but stops because it has to switch drivers. so we are waiting and they switch and whatever. the, of course, the train pulls away leaving us at the platform. i have alittle spaz attack and start beocming hysterical on the staircase with people watching me in the entire stauion. i swear, if i put ouit a hat people would be giving me money as a sideshow. so anyway, a different 1 train came and its tooks us another 2 hours tog et home that night. and thats my train story. the sad part is is that was not the first time that has happened. hpe you enjoyed my story.


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  3. cd123 says:

    Tonight I rode the subway with two stilt walkers dressed as the characters from Avatar.

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  4. MMaxworthy says:

    It was my second or third week of work at a new job. I was not feeling so well, but went to work anyway since I had just started. As I was getting off the E train at the 51st / Lexington stop (coming from Penn Station), the crowd and me being sick were not mixing too well. As I stepped onto the platform I took a deep breath hoping to get my bearings. Suddenly this very handsome man turned and asked me, “Are you ok?”. I had seen him standing not far from me in the subway car and thought how handsome he was. I can still see him holding the bar with one hand and a magazine in the other. He was wearing a tan suit with suspenders, and these great brown shoes.

    Amazed that this handsome prince was talking to me I told him, “I am fine, thanks.” He asked again adding that “you don’t look so good”, but I assured him I was ok and we continued up the escalator separately (about ten people apart).

    Afraid that I might never see him again I wanted to say something more to him, but didn’t know what! As I was about to head to the 6 train and him exit the train station I got his attention by shouting over the crowd “Thanks so much for asking”. Figuring I would never see him again!

    I remember going into work and telling my colleagues about this beautiful man who had talked to me on the train, and although I doubted it, how much I hoped I would bump into him again.

    Much to my surprise the next week, again on a Thursday, there he was on the E-train. Standing right next to me! I would have loved to have said something, but no words came out. I figured he would not have remembered me. But much to my surprise as I stepped onto the platform once again, I heard this voice saying “You are looking much better today”. We started talking as we rode up the escalator together. As it turned out he lived in my town in Long Island. He took the same LI railroad train in as myself, but stood at the other end of the platform. This explained why I had never seen him!

    The following week I was daring enough to head down to the other end of the platform hoping to see him again. Which I did. We started sitting together on the train in the morning. Somehow we started emailing one another, and then we went out on our first date to Charlie O’s inside Penn Station (it’s now a TGIF- UGH!!).

    Here it is 10 years later….we have been married almost five years and have a beautiful son who is almost 2.

    Every once in a while he’ll get me a E-Train teddy bear or card or something to remind me of how we met.

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  5. jcswed says:

    My wife and I got onto the subway late at night- the car was pretty empty. I grabbed the left seat of a 3 seat section and she took the middle seat across the car placing her bags on the left and right seats. At the next stop a stranger took the right seat (2 seats from me).

    After the doors closed, I told my wife she shouldn’t take up 3 seats. She replied the subway was empty. Then the stranger out of the blue said “I really wanted that seat (pointing to the seat next to my wife). My wife said “Oh, I’m sorry” and then the stranger said “Just kidding”

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  6. tellastory says:

    I saw a man on the subway with toilet paper stuck coming out of the top of the back of his pants, and I didn’t know what to say to him. So I just let him be…with his own “tail” for the tunnel…

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  7. mwallach says:

    I was nineteen, slim and confident as my sandals clicked on the dirty concrete steps of the Kings Highway subway station in Brooklyn. It was the summer after my sophomore year of college and I was working for a non-profit environmental organization doing door-to-door fund-raising. I was headed into the city to meet friends for lunch before my shift began at 2pm, so it must have been around noon as I climbed toward the July sunshine that warmed the station’s elevated platform.
    Suddenly, a hand on the back of my upper thigh interrupted the steady click-clack of my sandals. My thin sundress provided a meager barrier between my skin and a stranger’s foul intentions. Chubby fingers squeezed hard and the world seemed to stop. It was a mere moment, but even now, a decade and a half years later, the terror is vividly etched in my mind. Who is this? Am I going to be raped? Should I run? I could no longer hear the busy shoppers in their variety of native languages and the noisy brakes of the passing buses on the street below; nor did the scents of stale urine and McDonald’s containers register. I only felt fear, and in that instant I stumbled into adulthood, leaving my sheltered childhood and innocent naïveté behind.
    My head snapped around to meet the dark eyes of a man who actually looked just as scared as he did menacing. He stood several steps below me, so I couldn’t gauge his height, but he was broad-shouldered and wore a t-shirt and jeans. I screamed and shoved him backward, but he was already bolting in that direction. I threw my bag down and took off after him, but as I rounded a wide pillar and neared the turnstile, I caught a glimpse of him already on the street and sprinting into the crowd. I slumped against the tile wall, my hair sticking to my sweaty temples. I panted for a minute or two, letting the rage escape as I concluded that he resembled a million other New Yorkers. I considered telling the station clerk or calling the police, but the sudden realization that my bag laid unattended upstairs led me back toward the platform.
    Through the panic echoing in my head I could hear the Q train pulling into the station. My small backpack remained untouched, so I grabbed it quickly and boarded the train. The orange plastic seat felt cool against my skin, and I could still feel the spot on my thigh that his grimy hand had touched. All at once the tears began to fall in a furious torrent. I rummaged through my bag in search of my sunglasses, though they couldn’t have concealed my outburst.
    “What’s wrong?” a gentle voice asked. I looked up into the eyes of a tall woman. She held the bar overhead but was bent over me, her countenance revealing sincere concern. I only shook my head, too upset to utter a word. “Do you need money?” Her thin hands reached into her purse even as I refused with another shake of the head. “Did something happen to you?”
    I nodded and finally mumbled, “I’m okay, just upset.” By then another woman had approached and was holding out a tissue. “Thanks,” I said, almost smiling. They sat on either side of me and continued to offer things like gum, mints, quarters for a pay phone, a subway map, all the things women have in their seemingly bottomless handbags. I confessed that I wasn’t hurt and was feeling rather foolish to be crying so hysterically in public over one squeeze of one thigh. They assured me that my fear was justified and I switched trains at Atlantic Avenue after bidding the two strangers goodbye.
    What young woman hasn’t been groped or flashed or propositioned or offended in some way during an adventure on New York’s subways? That experience taught me to be wary, even at 12 noon, and that confidence can negate level-headedness.

    I was nineteen, frail and fearful, but the women of New York had cushioned my fall with their support.

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  8. Browneyedgirl says:

    Ever since i was a child i would spend every other weekend with my father and younger brother puttering around NYC checking out the tourist traps and must see places. As a kid NYC is a magical place and for me it was second home and something to brag about back in my tiny home towns public school. The first time i rode the subway it was like getting your favorite candy bar and finding a twenty hidden under the caramel filling. Since the first day on the subway no ride has been boring, normal or forgettable.

    I have seen many memorable things in the eleven years i have been riding the subway. Just a few being a small group singing snippets of the lion king, Puppeteers, and many many musicians all of whom i have enjoyed. But my all time favorite subway memory and perhaps even favorite NYC memory happened on a day when my father and i got on a subway to go out to dinner.

    The subway was packed, there were only two seats available on the entire subway, they were directly across from each other. My father told me to sit and as always i was given the quick reminder not to talk to strangers.The very next stop after everyone boarded the train and the doors had closed a man walked and stood in the center on the train directly in front of myself and my father. I can not remember if he did or did not have a bible clasped in his hands as it was years ago and time has added small alterations to the minor details. With or without the bible it was clear when he entered the train he was there to preach. What i do remember is he was about my height, 5’5′, he wore plain clothes, they were clean and presentable. He drew our attention to him by calling us his brothers and sisters. I fidgeted in my chair afraid he would talk about scary things like i’d seen in the exorcist movie i had sneak watched. Instead he starting preaching to the crowded subway train in a manner that had who were people paying attention trying not to laugh.

    The man pointed out a couple sitting together and holding hands. He asked them if they were married and was ignored. He turned back to the others and started mixing old saying into his speech. “Why buy the cow when you get the milk for free, right brother?” He asked the visibly uncomfortable couple. Im not sure if it was planned before the man approached them but they exited the train at the next stop. Everything he said was in a funny comfortable way and i was hanging on his every word.

    I had never been to a church sermon, but if that was what it was like i was willing to go every Sunday. I nodded and smiled when he looked in my direction and asked if he was right. He saw me, the only person who was or at least looking like they were paying attention. The rest of the train ride he would ask only me about answering his questions. “Right sister?” he would ask me. I would always answer with a enthusiastic “Yes sir”. The entire time i could feel my fathers eyes disapprovingly glaring in my direction.

    When the man exited the train he waved goodbye to me. When my father and my stop came i turned to him as the doors closed behind us and said “That was awesome.”.

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  9. The Stiletto says:

    This incident occurred just the other day as The Stiletto was commuting to work on the Seventh Avenue Express:

    A man and woman got on the subway in the middle of a heated argument. Before they boarded, the woman had apparently called the man “ignorant,” which he interpreted as being called “racist.” The snippet of the argument The Stiletto and her fellow passengers were privy to:

    MAN: Don’t call me a racist. I am Puerto Rican. You’re a racist.

    WOMAN: I said you were ignorant. And I am not a racist – my husband is Puerto Rican.

    MAN: Well, I’m not a racist – my wife is black.

    At which point The Stiletto – irrepressible wag that she is – turned to her seatmate and said: “I’ll call your Puerto Rican and raise you a black.”

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  10. CLO says:

    We were on the tube, our first time out of the US, when we met a Russian swimmer who was in London for a competition. He spoke little English, so we could not talk much, but we gave him one of our shiny silver dollars that we brought for small gifts. We thought it was so cool, meeting someone from Russia, when only a few years before we had still been in the Cold War. He looked at us, and my husband gave him a “thumbs up” because we did not know what else to say. I felt like a total cheeseball, and wonder what he must have thought of us. Is there a Russian word for “cheesy?”

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  11. dougdabear says:

    Was having a bad day,and was feeling down. Was just looking forward to going home and watching TV.The guitar player on the platform was actually kind of good.Although all he played were Elton John songs.Then when i was getting on the train a rather large woman looked at me and said “have a blessed day”.Which i thought was nice,but then i noticed she was saying that to everybody.Then at 42nd street,Spiderman got on and stood next to me.He was in a full Spiderman costume,with the mask and was pulling along a small suitcase.I remember thinking,Maybe he was a preformer on his way to a party,or he was the real Spiderman and had run out of web fluid,or he was just some guy who dressed up that way all the time.After all it is New York. Either way when i got off i relized i was in a much better mood.

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  12. rakes says:

    Just as they were about to shut, the subway doors were wrenched open by an attractive man in a suit. He bore a nametag that read: “Jesus.”

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  13. Kawi says:

    I was riding the 7 line home from Shea after another debilitating loss to the Yankees. There had been as many Yankee fans at the game as Met fans and as the train pulled out of Willet’s Point, tension was riding high. An argument broke out between two packs of teenagers and I was kicking myself for dragging my kids onto the subway instead of driving to the game. The teenagers were arguing, naturally, over who was the better team – the Mets or the Yankees. And they decided to settle it by having a …dance off. So right there, on the subway car floor, kids spun on their hands and on their heads and by the time we pulled into the city, everyone was having so much fun,no one remembered there had ever been an argument.

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  14. zackris says:

    When I first began working n NYC, I was so green!! I assumed the subway doors worked like an elevator…BG MISTAKE .. I was getting on one morning and the doors began to close so I shoved my briefcase … laptop and all into the door to keep it open while I walked in. The door woule NOT open and I started screaming … two men grabbed the sides of the door and began to pull while one man pushed my briefcase back out to me … I pulled it out just before the train took off with my briefcase and laptop AND purse thatI had squeezed into the case. BIG Lesson leaned.

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  15. jrzyrock says:

    I was part of a small group of office workers based out of New Jersey on our way to Ground Zero. We were accompanied in our subway car by three other weary commuters.
    Five intimidating looking men and one woman entered our car. Silence filled the air as glances shot back and fourth between us. The newcomers appeared to be sizing us up, deciding if we were a good hit. The tension was tight and fear was in the air. One of the men shot a glance at the others and nodded his head. We all braced for the worst.
    Instead of the attack we expected, the group broke out into an amazing acappella that blew us all out of our seats. The talent was amazing, the harmonizing flawless, and the delivery one to be remembered.
    As doors opened for the next stop, we dropped a tip in the hat with appreciation and relief.

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  16. erik says:

    When I was 16, many years ago 1965, We had all taken the 191 bus from NJ to go to the Filmore, (Might have been the village theater at that time) we had gone in to see the WHO. Ticket price $3 .We got to Port Authority, then went to the tubes. We went down town. We got over there and went inside. We had this guy with us, (remember 1965) who looked like a troll doll. A wide face, long hair straight down, sorta same body shape.
    The guy had an eye operation as a baby , He had big round eyes like a troll doll. It was NOT a guy we picked on for this ,just a guy. Well from that operation he had a problem. He swayed back and forth constantly. Non control able. Well we were in side the Venue. There was a lot of grass smoke inside. CLOUDS. Thick ones. Well here we go 1st time for me somkin anything! blasted we got. The show was over we left to go back to the tunnel.
    Got on the car, started to move . I noticed something ODD! our buddy who swayed back and forth was not swaying. in the 60′s those trains were like roller coasters.
    OMG what is up with this! being stoned the 1st time was strange enough. BUT him standing there like the Washington Monument was Realy weird. From that day on ,when he was on the train HE NEVER SWAYED!!!!
    the rest of us were in shock that day as he had been swaying since we knew each other since 1st grade!
    Only thing ever stranger was watching Cheech and Chong acting like dogs Ralph and whoever.
    I miss those days. I miss those guys.

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  17. Kacie says:

    Overly excited to be taking one of our friends to her first broadway show, four of us boarded the train with excitement to see this show, Tales from the Tunnel. Discussing other things to keep us occupied until we arrived at our stop, we spoke of normal shenanigans that 18-19 year olds would want to experience. Laughing and having a good time, admiring the two small children in the seats next to us with their mother, we assumed that our voices rose a little too loud for some tastes as a booming voice shouted out “Could ya’ll just shut the fuck up?!”. Noting that the children seemed to be no older than 4 and 6 or 7, we became slightly offended that such language would be used. One of my friends didn’t stand for it, and began talking about just how horrible it was to use such language. A conversation rose between her and the male.

    MAN: “Yeah? Well I don’t need to be hearing girls talking about their stripper parties and such while I’m trying to have a conversation!”

    FRIEND: “Well you could have just asked us nicely to quiet down, there was no need to use such language in front of children.”

    MAN: “You think I know nothin’ about children? I have fifteen of my own!”

    The argument died down, and the man continued his conversation on the phone. We picked up this little bit.

    MAN: “Yeah man, my two daughters are meeting me at the platform. *laugh* Yeah, they won’t be talking when I get them to punch their faces in.”

    FRIEND: “Oh? Is that a threat sir?”

    MAN: “Excuse me?”

    FRIEND: “Is that a threat?”

    MAN: “No, it’s a PROMISE.”

    As we neared the platform, knowing that this was the last stop, and that the man was still on the train, we didn’t want to take any chances that these ridiculous accusations were actually going to come true. Digging into my bag, I started saying “Oh no, oh no, my glasses aren’t in here.” I wear glasses only to see far away things, such as the people on a stage at a show. Winking and whispering that I was only faking to buy a bit of time, they played along, saying that I wouldn’t be able to see the show if I didn’t have them, was I sure that they weren’t in there, etc. As the doors opened, we continued to “search” as the man exited the train. Finally “finding my glasses” we left the train onto the platform, the man with the booming voice and his “two daughters that were going to beat us up” nowhere in sight.

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  18. margewang says:

    For My Dear Friends,

    To all of you who survive the daily commute of your 9-5 grind with strength and composure, whether by car, bus, trolley or train, if you do not have the opportunity (or misfortune) to commute via the New York City subway system, you have missed out on the following experiences that I, a faithful though bitter, daily customer of the MTA and its orange line have been able to witness first hand within the past 4 days:

    MONDAY -
    A strange looking, pale as vampire, tall, spindly, Caucasian man sprints to jump on my 8:16 train and consequently gets caught between the doors. Instead of trying to either retrieve himself or thrust himself forward so we may proceed, he HANGS THERE lifeless with his head down, one arm and one leg in the car and the other pair out. He looks up in despair, thrashes about for a minute like a trapped mouse and hangs again as we all watch in befuddlement.

    Finally the doors release momentarily and he rushes in, collapses on his hands and knees, sighing, looking as if he had just orgasmed or escaped a wild boar. He then begins to pace up and down the train car in front of me stumbling left and right from the turbulence as we all hold our knees in, wary that he’s just another nutcase with a contagious disease. Then he whips out a book and as the man next to me leaves, he settles aside me, breathing heavily but reading serenely. Now, whenever anyone reads ANYTHING next to me, I can’t help but read along with them (an annoying social habit of mine). So I glance over and realize…HE IS READING MANDARIN?? What the f*&ck?! Of course, due to what he mistakenly interprets as ‘socialization’ from me, he smiles and leans the book towards me as if encouraging we read together! I give him a ‘what is wrong with you?’ stare and look away, dignified.

    THEN, it hits me – he IS a certified nutcase…the mandarin language is read from the back cover to the front cover, and from the right page to the left, the exact opposite of how the western hemisphere reads. And here this oddity was, probably off his medication for days, reading books in mandarin, most likely thinking it was written in Hieroglyphics, clearly ignorant to the fact that he has no idea what he’s reading and feeling morally glorified in sharing it with his oriental co-passenger. In his demented (albeit blissfully ignorant) microcosm, just another wonderful day in the neighborhood.

    I am late. Again. My hair is wet and I’m dreading my miserable, mundane, hygienically criminal commute. I have my 2 week old trash bag in my hands, running down 5 flights of stairs because my elevator is surprisingly non-functional for the third time in two weeks. I’m flying down floors 5, 4 then. . .BAMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!. I opened the door to the stairwell on floor 3 and run smack dab into my 4″9, 325 lb, 65 yr old widowed neighbor. My trash bag flies out of my hand, leaking putrid-ness on the floor, my face is frozen in mutilated shock, embarrassment and DISGUST, and I creep along the wall praying that I can collect myself to get away fast enough, apologize to her, bend down to collect my bag of amoeba-fied waste and there…there it was…face to crotch…no pants, no panties, but a proudly worn geriatric diaper in XXXL to fit her 325 lb incontinent and presently naked lower half.

    I caught the 8 am train. All is well. This means I arrive at the office at 8:37 so I can have an extra 20 minutes to continue “filing” my “documents” into the paper shredder. The train car is empty save for 3 other passengers. At the following stop a massive 640 lb obese child of god thunders his way in and since I am seated at the row closest to the door, although there are probably 67 empty seats through out the car, he rests his clogged arteries and polluted ventricular system next to me, taking up the remaining half of our bench. He then turns and looks at me, with eyelids just as fat his fingers and says, “That’s a very pretty dress you have on ma’am. Be careful not to open your legs on the train today.”

    Same shit. Different day. The M train is 20 minutes behind schedule. I’ve been sweating like a pig and my feet are swollen bigger than a woman in her second trimester. Why? Because of my liver I suppose. My doctor attributes all my health issues to my liver. I still don’t know what this means. No seats left on the local train. We are all miserable and will violently assault when provoked. Time pities us and passes us by. We are brought to 53 and Lexington Ave. where a grown man, exceeding 6 feet in height, boards my car with his baseball cap, sunglasses secured around his neck, reading glasses on, and backpack strapped with a water bottle on the side. “Good morning fellow passengers!” he sings with a heavy tongue and lisp, “I’d like to go to Macy’s today…can someone come with me?” Silence, as we attempt to ignore his outrageous morning cheer delivered with speech impediments and gusto. He turns to a woman probably in her forties and says, “Will you come with me?”

    “No” she says, “but I will tell u how to get there”.

    “Ok.” And he smiles, with one wandering eyeball and a little bit of drool puddling at the corners of his mouth. “And then will YOU come with me? Because I like what you’re wearing,” he says as he turns to a business man in a full suit while eyeing his wardrobe in amazement.

    “No, I’m sorry, I have to be at the office,” the businessman replies politely but staunchly. “Ok,” says this overgrown boy scout with a never waning smile, “Then I will borrow your book right?” he asks, as he turns to another woman reading. “Well, honey, you can borrow it as soon as I’m finished reading it,” she replies as the first person to return his smile and sincerity.

    “OK GREAT!!!” he screams in excitement then, suddenly, his face falls, his eyes droop, and he reaches to fiddle with the sunglasses tied around his neck with his ‘easy reach’ cord. “B-b-but…when I get to Macy’s,” he stammers, “I, um, well …I- I just don’t know what to buy..what should I buy?” Silence again. And I suspiciously peer over my right shoulder, yanked from my position as the outside observer. All eyes were on me, and I realized: Crap. It’s my turn to respond to this day camper isn’t it? So I look him in the eye, drool now brimming over his bottom lip, sadness saturating his face, and I say to him, with as much sincere excitement as I can muster, and as big a smile as I can beam underground on this subway car, “How about a brand new leather jacket for the fall?”

    “YEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” he screams, shaking from excitement, as a light bulb goes off in his head, and the life comes back to his eyes, and all is right in his world, right now, at 9:02 am this morning. And he is silenced for the duration of the ride, lost in the glory of what may come on his adventurous path towards Macy’s, with leather jackets and edible treats swimming around the daydream bubbles in his head as he stares off to one corner of the car, catatonic.

    A sudden tranquility descends upon us commuters because, although our battle through the day has not yet started, it is still Thursday, 2 days before a long weekend, and on this day, we have all participated in the sheer, genuine happiness of one innocent little soul.

    God bless.


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  19. DaveE90s says:

    I was traveling home from work on Wall Street on a typical day where I left on the early side (i.e. 6PM, in the rush hour) as it was slow at work that day. I take the Lexington Avenue line express train that stops at E86th street where I get off, the stop before heading into East Harlem where the next stop is E125th street. The crowd in the subway was mixed, half professionals dressed in suits, and the other half not. The “suits” where mostly white, professionals (both men & women). As the train approached E86th street, a black man was sitting down with his really cute, young son and said to him, “I’m going to do a magic trick. When the train stops at E86th street, I’m going to say Abra-Cadabra….and all of the white people are going to disappear”. Sure enough, the subway car doors opened and, for the most part, his magic trick worked. Then the train proceeded onward.

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