Peter had never enjoyed taking the subway. Cramped seats, even more cramped carriages, didn't exactly fit him or his hulking frame.

If he was standing he'd have to duck his head down so he didn't hit it on the ceiling. If he was sat his knees would nearly reach front of the seat on the opposite wall.

He hated the subway. Especially on mornings like this, where the smell of Brooklyn would follow him underground into the damp, musty subway station and into the train. It was raining and he'd managed to get the last seat on the carriage. Chagrined, he prayed the dampness he could feel was rainwater in the thin cushion.

After a few stops, you managed to squeeze into the already sardined carriage, thankful to even get in past the doors. After politely jostling your way further into the carriage you stood at a railing, holding on as the subway started moving, the jolt making you stumble slightly, your bag slipping and falling into a large man's lap.