019: excuse

Skittering on the rails, the dinged-up and thoroughly abused trolley raced onward, the dim lights of the subway tunnel fading in and out like fireflies. The slightly-disoriented passengers, many too busy clenching their eyelids to see such a low-budget light show, held onto whatever stable bar or handle the rickety car could provide. Knuckles went white. Nosebleeds became frequent. Certain pairs of trousers warranted changing. And yet, nothing could stop the cackling madman at the controls, driven to his own end.

Hence why I was late, ma'am.