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She didn't fall right into the train, like you'd picture it happening. I guess if you timed it perfectly it would be possible to get that certain..bug-in-a-windshield effect. But, no, it wasn't like that. She fell all the way and landed on the tracks with about two and a half seconds left on the clock; broken down like this..first a confused, "what the fuck just happened to me?" look..and then a horrific abbreviated moment of total comprehension as she looked up. Destiny caught her half-standing, in a doomed escape attempt that could not have possibly been enough. A scream cut short. A forced, unprepared auto eulogy, interrupted and spread liberally over three-hundred feet of subway line. Commotion, into which the man dissapeared. Shock and bewilderment. The general disgust that couldn't entirely veil the underlying fascination. Lots of shrieking, as if they were all finishing off for her. A half-compliant evacuation. Police. Firemen. Authority to officialized tragedy. Yellow tape. The Six-o-Clock news to tell the people what they never saw. Monopolized reality for the maintanence of order. Collected at the source and redistributed as is seen fit. Sterilized. Meanwhile, a strong stench. The men in the blue overalls trying not to retch. The ones that have to account for every fingernail before the rats do. The vulgarity of the scene. The permanence of the image. You never fully realize until moments like this, that people really are 70 percent water.
