The 2 train jerked away from the 72nd Street station and an empty soda bottle rolled along the car. Everyone lifted their feet and it missed a half-eaten hotdog, a wadded up newspaper, two coffee cups and all four center poles. It banged against the conductors door and sat there as the train rumbled down the Westside of Manhattan.
The train braked hard going into Times Square and the bottle rolled back. About halfway through the car a man dropped into perfect fielding position, scooped it up and made a phantom throw to first base.
“Nice play,” someone said. “You’re as smooth as Robinson Cano.”
“Thanks,” the man said. “I’m just warming up.”
“So when does the game start?” someone asked.
The man shook his head and said:
“Not for about five months.”