I had another “New York City first” on Saturday night. It was the first time I saw a dead body here. It wasn’t exposed, luckily. It was in a body bag, on a gurney, being brought up from the L platform to the F platform at the Sixth Avenue and Fourteenth street station.

My friend and I were going to Brooklyn but couldn’t take the L because the cops bad blocked it off. We went down to catch the M instead, but along with a big group of others, chose the wrong entrance. We got all mixed up for a while; had to cross above ground, then go back down and re-swipe our cards. I could hear the small herd of people who did the same thing as us, following close behind and collectively bitching. For a minute, we both wondered what had happened, but only because we wanted someone to blame our buzzkill on. We shared a few dark theories and laughed about them, then came to the conclusion that it was a drunk who fell, or someone who jumped. That was good enough to make us stop wondering and go back to talking about whatever we’d been talking about earlier.

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