[The little jabs back and forth barely prick his pride, expected as they are. If he were in their shoes, he’d be probably making them, too — but regardless, despite his aching bones and sore muscles, he’s relaxed enough to time a quip back without worrying about causing offense. It seems that they all share the same shades of humor among them, at least to a certain degree. He has to admit, it’s a little nice.

It’s that same sense of humor that’s qualified New York public transport as “terrifying”, which may be an exaggeration to some — and nothing short of accuracy to the rest.]

Think of yellow metal wagons screeching [honking] at each other on a crowded city street, narrowly avoiding jaywalkers. Or a collection subterranean metal boxes speeding along a track, stuffed to the brim with individuals trying to get to work on time.

[It’s hard to put into words the trials and tribulations of experiencing it first-hand, but he affects a dismissive gesture.]

Give me some time. I’ll be back on my feet sooner rather than later.

[Not that he has a choice. Their marked spot on the map can’t be that much farther; over the hill on the horizon at this rate.]