The Cost of a Mortal's Captivity | Loki

Subway Sandwich

If you have ever experienced New York traffic during rush hour, you have experienced hell, and I am sorry. Upon arriving in New York at the young and foolish age of twenty, I reasoned that since I had a car, I was going to use it. My stubborn self drove to work for almost half of a year, my soul dying a little bit each time. Eventually, I reasoned that New York has subways, so I'm going to use them.  

The station is always bustling with the strangest characters: musicians, artists, con-people. If you want to find a way to get rid of your money fast, go to a subway station. As for myself, the way I choose to be rid of it is by giving to a select group of elders who make the station their home.

My "generous nature" has made me their friend, and it's a good thing, too. I've never been too good at making friends. In fact, I could probably write a book on how not to make friends. Nonetheless, these people made sure I had no trouble whatsoever. One or three of them may know me better than I know myself.

The specific three to which I refer are Don, Simon, and Alfred. They are the three caballeros of the station, the three musketeers, and frankly some of the oldest people I have ever met. If Simon could remember how old he was, I have no doubt he would boast being the oldest man in the world. 

Upon seeing me walk into the station, Alfred's face lights up. He begins to elbow his friends who are dozing off next to him on the bench. "Hey, Don! Simon! Look who joined the living!"

"Good morning, gentlemen," I greet them as cheerily as I can.

Don, the youngest of the trio at the age of eighty-three, notices me first. "Abby? Well, would you look at that? You survived after all."

Simon, the cantankerous one of the bunch, snorts. "That's about to be more than you can say for me. I'm an old man. Let me sleep, won't ya?"

Alfred again elbows him awake. "Oh, no you don't. I told you she would survive. Pay up, old man."

Growling, Simon pulls a fifty-cent piece out of his pocket and hands it to Alfred. Yes, they make wagers on my survival like any good friends would.

"So, tell us what happened," Don instructs.

Simon interrupts me before I can begin. "Don't you know anything, Donny? That Loogie of Whatever-place-gard attacked and left nobody breathing."

"Well, Simon," I begin. "I'm sitting right here, so you may be a little bit misinformed." Per request, I retell the story for the third time, omitting the gory details that could traumatize anyone. I even include the bit where I was interrogated by the United States government, though they seemed more interested in the fact that I was a hostess for Captain America.

"I remember when they introduced Captain America," Alfred recalls. "I even went to see the show once..."

"Oh you think that's something, do ya?" Don counters. "Captain America once saved my life from a crazed Nazi with a gun!"

"You're making that up," Alfred accuses. 

"I am not!" Don insists.

"I don't remember being fond of Captain America," Simon grunts. "Seemed too showy to me." This coming from the man who can't remember his middle name.

"You're just saying that to be a spoil-sport," I laugh. "Every kid loved Captain America."

"Not every kid, missy."

"Sure, Simon. You can keep telling yourself that." Before Simon can once more deny his childhood-love of Cap, my train arrives and I board leaving them each with five bucks. As I said, this is my favorite way to lose money.