When I took the metro yesterday, I got on as I usually do, found a spot as I usually do, watched people get in as I usually do, and waited for the door to shut as I usually do. Predictably, the doors slid shut; and then, the moment that both sliding doors were firmly together, a man wearing a giant dufflebag turned around and pulled a strange little gadget out of his pocket, a circular base with four flashlights attached. (It was very strange looking.)
Got to give Russians credit where credit's due: they sure know how to get a captive audience.
Standing in the doorway in the middle of the metro, the man kept yelling at the top of his lungs, shouting about how his little flashlight gadget was so stylish, and how it was so useful, and how you could change the angles of the flashlight and use it to decorate your house. For the most part, everyone, including me, simply pretended that he didn't exist.
After a while, a minute or two before the last stop, the man stopped shouting and shuffled over to the other door, preparing to leave. As he moved out of the way, a man who had been standing on the other side of him stood intently staring at me. I mostly avoided his eyes, or looked at his feet, because I had no idea why he was looking at me; and then, quietly, stealthily, he looked around, reached into his pocket, and pulled out one of the salesman's gadgets, contentedly fiddling with the flashlights as the metro skidded to a stop.
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