MONDAY The C2 toward Soho. The woman across from me is holding her broken heel. She is putting it in place, willing it to affix itself. She takes out her phone from her bag. Peeking from the zipper mouth is a pregnancy testing kit.
TUESDAY The C2 toward Kentish Town. The bus in front of us clips a pedestrian. He’s down. He isn’t moving. I don’t see blood. Ambulances are already screaming their approach. A businesswoman beside me is in a huff, because the bus driver won’t open the doors to let us out. He does 30 seconds later.