On the 86 tram. Or any tram. Or the bus. Or a taxi. Probably not on Uber – they sound a bit dodgy.
Or the train. The Metro train. Squished up against you. Not minding that sometimes, when the train lurches, you drag on the back of my shirt like a beaten defender conceding a professional free kick, while I push my palm flat against the roof, hoping my shoulder doesn’t subluxate.… Read the restRead More