The platform at Grand Central was full of people at 12:47 a.m., the fluorescent lights reflected brightly, with insects buzzing round them. I had missed the last express by three minutes and now stood wedged between a businessman scrolling stock tickers and a college kid with earbuds blasting a rap. My little black dress clung to my thighs, damp from the summer humidity that refused to get better even after midnight. The skirt barely skimmed mid-thigh, the neckline dipped low enough that every breath threatened spillage. I had dressed for the club, not for this sardine-can that's crawling uptown.
When the train screeched to a stop, the doors slid open and the crowd surged in. I was pushed forward on a tide of elbows and briefcases, my four-inch heels skidding on the smooth floor. Someone’
