On my way down the narrow escalator in the High Street subway station I get stuck behind a pair of tourists. They’re a gay couple, and one is holding up a tourist book to the other, who is pointing and talking animatedly. At the bottom of the escalator they stroll casually to the area where the stairs descend: sure enough, they’re puzzled as are all tourists in this station as to which stair to take (even though both lead to the same platform). I make a move to get around them, but one steps obliviously into my path. I can hear a train approaching, and I’m tempted to push my way through. But there’s still time, and I force myself to slow down and remain a step behind them. The train pulls into the station and it’s not mine; one of the tourists turns and asks me: ‘Is this the train going to Manhattan?’ I tell him it is (I’m going further into Brooklyn). The tourist smiles and thanks me, and both men board the train. At the last second before the doors close I realize my mistake: I’m used to taking the Manhattan-bound train, and the train about to depart is in fact a Brooklyn-bound train. I board, glancing nervously around for the two men – perhaps if I see them I can still warn them to get off? – but the train is crowded and they’ve already disappeared into the throng.