Thomas Knockers was in a bad way, and it was obvious. He had dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. The veins looked like overlapping routes on a GPS. A greater display of his discomfort was in the way he pressed the palms of his hands against his head, above the ears, as if trying to play a stubborn accordion. He was experiencing the mother of all migraines.
Guiseppe Winnipeg was in a serious pickle. You see, in order for Guiseppe to speak, he needed to use his hands. He had to gesticulate, otherwise, he was reduced to stammering and resorting to saying things like whaddayah call them things, or you know that guy, the guy, that guy. Since he could not snap his fingers, he was utterly useless, like a lighter with fresh flint and zero butane.
It was 8:20 A.M. The train was packed with people and it smelled like it. The train went dark as it entered the tunnel. Not even a second later, the light was immediately replaced with an eerie man-made incandescence. A complete shift had occurred. You could no longer tell if it were night or day.
Vance Afro was utterly sandwiched between a pole against his back and a short old man, further flanked by a woman straining to carry a six-year old child, a schlub who needed to shower yesterday, and a businessperson.
This is probably a good time to pause for an explain this to me moment. The term businessman surely indicates male; and businesswoman, female. Yet when one says businessperson, we insinuate that the gender is female. This has been an explain this to me moment.