The Stairway Away

The man struggles against his captors as they drag him up the stairs. I can't help but cringe as his body thumps like a sack of potatoes against each step. I do nothing just like everyone else. As soon as his feet disappear around the marble corner the world regains its natural motion. The bearded man next to me buries his nose back in a newspaper as a woman ushers her children back through the sliding doors. I instinctively follow, stepping in just moments before the doors slam shut. I look back at the now-occupied bench where the man had lain only minutes before.
Stepping onto the metro 15 minutes ago I hadn't immediately noticed the shoddily dressed man lying on one of the benches. The metro hasn't been as crowded today as I've seen it in the past. Everyone to my right is looking in one direction with palpable contempt etched onto their pale faces. I step closer to two men, both donning similar styles of mullet. I see the target of everyone's brooding; there's a man taking up an entire bench to himself. His beard is thin and graying. The brown beanie atop his head is a few shades darker than his muddy coat. He's cradling his head in the crook of his right arm while his left arm is dangling toward the floor. It's easy to visualize the empty vodka bottle beneath his fingertips that has since rolled away.
I wonder why no one has said anything to him as I silently retain my distance. The whine of the wheels drops an octave, signifying an approaching stop. When the doors slowly pry themselves open the sound of a whistle immediately draws everyone's eyes out into the underground hall. Those of us by the gaping doors rush outward in tandem like a rehearsed flock of birds. Running past me in a camouflage blur, the policemen stomp onto the train as those still aboard back away. Without a word, one of the policemen begins kicking the slumbering man furiously. Sitting up slowly in shocked inebriation, the man is grabbed from behind by the second policeman and pulled brutally off the bench and out of the train.
Watching the one-sided scuffle taking place only a few feet away, I backed away toward the old man and his newspaper. The complete silence of the metro is broken by Travis' voice, "That was weird."
I glance over my shoulder to face him. Keeping my voice down to avoid unwanted attention, I reply, "Yeah, it was."
Turning away, another train flies swiftly by. The others' faceless images stream along like colorful shadows inside the light of the other train. I'm sure that we appear the same to all of them.