Peggy

Riva Djinn exited the 2 train,
swinging her messenger sack,
whistling an old Tom Waits tune.

She climbed the stairs,
chose not to pull her usual ankle twist hoax,
and made her way toward the turnstile just beneath 42nd Street.

For whatever reason, it so happened, there were crowds
gathered at every possible exit,
except for the one turnstile to the far right.

Riva decided to make her way through there,
but was stopped by a frazzled lady who was about to swipe
her metro card to enter.

Lady: I was here first. I'm coming through. Back off!
Riva: But the proper etiquette is to let a person OUT first.
Lady: I already let a bunch of people out. Move!
Riva: Be fair, then. You let all them go. Why not me?
Lady: Move!
Riva: (laughing) Oh, come on. Ha! That's the way we do it around here:
we let people OUT first.
You're reminding me of that old song
Queen sang with that hostage-situation dialogue:
"Let him go!...We will not!...Let him go!...We will not!" You remember that ditty?

The lady didn't laugh or move or sing along with Riva. She just locked her jaw and decided to show how stubborn she was going to be about this. She decided to lean over and block the exit.

Rive: My name's Riva.
Lady: I'm Peggy. Let me through.
Riva: Nice to meet you, Peggy.

Riva keeps singing and laughing, but Peggy is not interested in making friends.

Peggy: Really, back off.

Now she was getting sincerely mean.

Riva: Oh, all right. If you insist.

Riva backs out, ever-so-slowly.

Peggy: Sigh. (Rolls her eyes.)

Riva: Next time we meet, Peggy. You let me through first. Okay. Next time!