When you’re an adult, it is almost impossible to notice that summer is finally here. When you’re an adult, your summer is practically the same as fall or even winter, with one major difference - the subway.
The New York subway in summer is a romanticized mish-mash of rats, tired people, and occasionally empty cars that nobody wants to be in - especially when the smell is too human. So the summer of 2021 was barely different from any previous summer. However, there was a twist: with fewer humans around, the subway was claimed by its true king - the rat. And with so little garbage around, the Rat King was very angry and a little sad.
I am sure you know what happened next. Isn’t it just uncanny how history keeps repeating itself? And one day, you become a part of the story that has already been lived by somebody else. This time, the Nutcracker themselves!
First, we sang.
We were on an empty platform at the 72nd Street station. The hot sauna-like vestibule lured out the King. He was looking for a cooler spot on a platform where there was no escape. I guess he thought my shadow was cooler than anything else. I saw him approaching me: first very timidly, then he ran. I ran too. Not to hug, but to hide. Little did I know that my shadow was the only point of the King’s interest in moving towards me.
The train approached, and I ran into the car under the increasing waves of screams from the three other people in the car.
Second, we talked.
I stood on one of the long, empty, pale-blue seats. “AAAAAAAA,” I supported the other three people who were sharing the same bench with me. “What AAAAAAAAA?” asked the King. All four of us thought we were dreaming.
“Man… remember two years ago there was this thing - pizza rat?” the King asked.
“Maybe,” I answered.
“Well, it was me.”
“It was you?”
“Yes! You know! I was trying hard, looking for a better angle to be randomly captured by a by-passer… I was loved back then — people were looking for me, leaving me pizza everywhere, and now….”
I felt for him. It must be hard. I had just read the story of a famous producer, beloved by everyone but then convicted and jailed. It must be hard to lose all your influence overnight.
Third, we agreed.
The King was very sad. His clear tear fell on the dirty floor of the car, which he wiped away with his long, thick tail. He approached another passenger, then the third, showing his teeth as a weapon of fear. He was fearless in his anger to humiliate all of us humans in that New York subway car.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll do what you want!”
“How do you know what I want?”
“Well, we all want the same thing. After all, it is New York.”
I got off at the next stop. I genuinely wanted to get him some pizza, but then I called 3-1-1.
“Rat exterminator?” I asked.
The next morning, there was one fewer King at the 72nd Street station in Manhattan.
The King was dead.