The L train whistled to a stop. The screeching and the banging and the rattling was over in an instant, but Cyrus’s ears still rang like hit gongs.
He opened his eyes. The windows of the car were smudged with dirt. His reflection showed his hair standing on his head like he’d stuck his finger in an electrical socket.
The lights flickered off and on as if taking inspiration from a horror flick. His vision shook from the wild ride.
Somehow, Cyrus had managed to hold on to the metal pole. Somehow, his spray pack and board were still on his back.
His heart pounded at a million times per minute and he struggled to breathe.
“What…what…the…ever-loving f—”
“It’s over now, dear,” a female voice said. The old woman was seated across from him. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”
Cyrus stared
