It Certainly Wasn't Flawless, part two: The Return
I forgot to mention a few things yesterday.
One was the train from Grand Central to White Plains had the squeakiest wheel in the history of the NYC transit system. The subway cars can be shrill shrill, at times, but this train took it to several more levels. There was also a screaming toddler that redefined the phrase "Armageddon."
Most importantly, I forgot to mention that the path we took to White Plains was actually Plan D, after plans A, B, and C had all failed.
This is how the trip from White Plains back home went.
The Uber picked us up in one minute. We got to the train station and went for a quick breakfast sandwich (I hadn't eaten for six hours) at a Tim Horton's right by the platform. I tossed the wrapper in the trash, we stepped on the platform, and the train arrived two minutes later.
It was an express train, so we made one stop (instead of fifteen) before we disembarked at Grand Central.
A musician with a violin was playing as we walked up the stairs. I looked at C. "Are you kidding me?" I asked. She laughed.
We needed to take two subway trains to get home. They both arrived within thirty seconds of us stepping on the platform.
On the way home, a man with a guitar stood up and serenaded us (quite nicely, too) for one stop.
"The universe is just *ucking with us now," I said.
It was all impossibly, unreasonably perfect.
Time to get to White Plains? Almost two and a half hours. Time to get home? An hour and thirty minutes. With violin.
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