I had been waiting for a transfer at the 59th Street Circle for what seemed like hours. Check watch. Another five minutes has gone by. Check tunnel. Still no train. There was something about this particular stop in the middle of the night that took forever.
When a train finally arrived, bringing a gushing wind and a jolting stop, the doors opened and I pushed aside fellow commuters to ensure I, too, could board. Why were there so many people? It was seemingly unusual for that hour.
Most faces were stuck in books. Normal. No one ever wants to make eye-contact on a subway. Most faces also wore large black-framed classes. Not normal. The same black-framed glasses. The faces were all buried in the same book.
Ms. Rowling had kept the city out late that night. And I had a feeling no one would be getting much sleep anytime soon.