Last night Jennalise and I were waiting for the G when we noticed two NYPD officers approaching a man from both sides of the tracks.

He was Church-bound, leaning against one of the green beams that are placed every 10 yards as the Queens bound officer pulled a gun on him. “CUFF HIM,” he screamed to his opposite-side-of-the-track partner. The leaning man was pushed against the tiled wall and frisked.

“What’d I do?”

“Shut up! Just cuff him and we’ll take him upstairs!” The gun was still pointed at the man, who seemed lifeless at this point – having succumbed to the drawn weapon and hands moving all over his back and thighs like an awkward sexual encounter. “QUIT RESISTING!” He wasn’t.

After the officer on my side holstered his weapon, his partner began escorting the seemingly confused man up the stairs. “What’d I do?” he asked. His tone felt genuine, but, as a civilian, what do I know?

“It doesn’t matter what you did.” All three of them disappeared.