Question
PROSE FICTION: The following passage is adapted from a
short story about a man in a city.
Waiting for the subway was, like everything else
during my first week in the city, an experience that overloaded
my senses and drained me of energy. In those early days, I
had yet to find the level of comfort I now enjoy, and this was
5especially so while on the platform, surrounded by a mass of
strangers. I avoided their faces and tried to focus on the job
interview ahead of me.
As I stood waiting, I detected many external echoes
of the inner turmoil created by my unfamiliar surroundings.
10The saxophonist at the foot of the stairs blew a torrent of notes
that seemed to reproduce the sensory bombardment I had
endured over the previous few days. Despite my best efforts
to concentrate, I could not place his melody. His accompanist,
a bongo-drum player, pounded away just like my heart seemed
15to beat within my chest—steady one moment, staccato the
next. An express train thundered by on the inner tracks,
creating a dull ache in my sternum that was not unlike the slow
churning in my stomach. I looked down from the platform to
observe the tracks, all in a hue of deep rust, wind into a black
20void just several yards away.
Finally, the Number 1 train arrived to take me to my
midtown appointment. There were no available seats in the
car that stopped in front of me, so I was forced to stand,
holding the metal bar that extended from the floor to the
25ceiling of the car. I was in the front of the car, facing the front
of the train. I marveled momentarily at just how clean this
shining vertical bar was; it heartened me that something so
polished could exist underground. Then, I thought of all the
bare hands (like mine) that had gripped it, and I instantly
30realized that it was very likely not so clean after all. Just as I
loosened my grip in “germophobic” moment (I think the
proper term is “mysophobic”), the train started with a lurch
that nearly sent me sprawling backward to the floor. After
regaining my footing, I turned toward the back and gazed at a
35wall blankly as if nothing had happened, all the while feeling
disoriented and a little claustrophobic among the crowd of
strangers.
My eyes occasionally darted to my sides as I
surveyed my fellow riders. The four passengers seated to my
40left were, in my best estimation, young twenty-something‐
year-olds: two women and two men. The women were posi‐
tioned too acutely for me to see them fully, though I could
hear them commenting about photos on a phone. The men were
immaculately groomed, crisp advertisements for an attention
45to detail that I knew I would never possess. Both wore white
dress shirts with black pants, and had short hair that was gelled
to stiff peaks over the centers of their foreheads. They were
discussing the distinguishing characteristics of fine leather
shoes. Surrounding the feet of these young men was an
50outcrop of boxy paper bags with string-like handles, all
bearing the names of fine designers or fancy department
stores. I envied these young men and women; their preoc‐
cupations, shallow though they might have been, would have
been as welcome a luxury to me as anything in those shopping
55bags. After all, they seemed to have the luxury of shopping
for the things that they wanted as I was en route to an
interview for a job that I needed.
To my right were only two seats, both taken up by
one very large, homeless looking person who was a complete
60mystery. Whether a man or a woman, I could not tell because
he or she was huddled over, head in hands. The mystery rider
remained in this position for the twelve minutes of my trip,
rocking slightly with the bends and bursts of the subway car.
The olive green, worn-looking coat, the grey sweatpants, and
65the black, very worn-looking, combat-style boots offered no
hints to the gender of this city dweller; they merely told the
story of a person who seemed to lack opportunity.
Then it struck me. I was literally positioned between
symbols of two of the extremes that the city offered: wealth
70and good fortune to my left; poverty and despair to my right. I
felt like the spectrum of personal outcomes stood (and sat) on
either side of me. I again felt the weight of the job interview
that loomed. How much control did I have over the outcome?
This question did nothing to quell my anxiety.
75Suddenly, the train screeched to a halt. Without
thinking, I became part of the flow of riders exiting the
subway car. I glanced back to see whether mystery rider
would look up to offer me a clue. No luck. The flow led me
up the stairs and into the bright sunlight. I took a deep breath
and resolved myself to control my destiny.
The point of view from which the passage is told is best
described as that of:
A.
an omniscient narrator, who knows the thoughts of each
referenced character.
B.
an unnamed narrator who describes an adult city dweller.
C.
an adult who recently moved to an urban location.
D.
a train conductor who is vigilant and very observant.
short story about a man in a city.
Waiting for the subway was, like everything else
during my first week in the city, an experience that overloaded
my senses and drained me of energy. In those early days, I
had yet to find the level of comfort I now enjoy, and this was
5especially so while on the platform, surrounded by a mass of
strangers. I avoided their faces and tried to focus on the job
interview ahead of me.
As I stood waiting, I detected many external echoes
of the inner turmoil created by my unfamiliar surroundings.
10The saxophonist at the foot of the stairs blew a torrent of notes
that seemed to reproduce the sensory bombardment I had
endured over the previous few days. Despite my best efforts
to concentrate, I could not place his melody. His accompanist,
a bongo-drum player, pounded away just like my heart seemed
15to beat within my chest—steady one moment, staccato the
next. An express train thundered by on the inner tracks,
creating a dull ache in my sternum that was not unlike the slow
churning in my stomach. I looked down from the platform to
observe the tracks, all in a hue of deep rust, wind into a black
20void just several yards away.
Finally, the Number 1 train arrived to take me to my
midtown appointment. There were no available seats in the
car that stopped in front of me, so I was forced to stand,
holding the metal bar that extended from the floor to the
25ceiling of the car. I was in the front of the car, facing the front
of the train. I marveled momentarily at just how clean this
shining vertical bar was; it heartened me that something so
polished could exist underground. Then, I thought of all the
bare hands (like mine) that had gripped it, and I instantly
30realized that it was very likely not so clean after all. Just as I
loosened my grip in “germophobic” moment (I think the
proper term is “mysophobic”), the train started with a lurch
that nearly sent me sprawling backward to the floor. After
regaining my footing, I turned toward the back and gazed at a
35wall blankly as if nothing had happened, all the while feeling
disoriented and a little claustrophobic among the crowd of
strangers.
My eyes occasionally darted to my sides as I
surveyed my fellow riders. The four passengers seated to my
40left were, in my best estimation, young twenty-something‐
year-olds: two women and two men. The women were posi‐
tioned too acutely for me to see them fully, though I could
hear them commenting about photos on a phone. The men were
immaculately groomed, crisp advertisements for an attention
45to detail that I knew I would never possess. Both wore white
dress shirts with black pants, and had short hair that was gelled
to stiff peaks over the centers of their foreheads. They were
discussing the distinguishing characteristics of fine leather
shoes. Surrounding the feet of these young men was an
50outcrop of boxy paper bags with string-like handles, all
bearing the names of fine designers or fancy department
stores. I envied these young men and women; their preoc‐
cupations, shallow though they might have been, would have
been as welcome a luxury to me as anything in those shopping
55bags. After all, they seemed to have the luxury of shopping
for the things that they wanted as I was en route to an
interview for a job that I needed.
To my right were only two seats, both taken up by
one very large, homeless looking person who was a complete
60mystery. Whether a man or a woman, I could not tell because
he or she was huddled over, head in hands. The mystery rider
remained in this position for the twelve minutes of my trip,
rocking slightly with the bends and bursts of the subway car.
The olive green, worn-looking coat, the grey sweatpants, and
65the black, very worn-looking, combat-style boots offered no
hints to the gender of this city dweller; they merely told the
story of a person who seemed to lack opportunity.
Then it struck me. I was literally positioned between
symbols of two of the extremes that the city offered: wealth
70and good fortune to my left; poverty and despair to my right. I
felt like the spectrum of personal outcomes stood (and sat) on
either side of me. I again felt the weight of the job interview
that loomed. How much control did I have over the outcome?
This question did nothing to quell my anxiety.
75Suddenly, the train screeched to a halt. Without
thinking, I became part of the flow of riders exiting the
subway car. I glanced back to see whether mystery rider
would look up to offer me a clue. No luck. The flow led me
up the stairs and into the bright sunlight. I took a deep breath
and resolved myself to control my destiny.
The point of view from which the passage is told is best
described as that of:
A.
an omniscient narrator, who knows the thoughts of each
referenced character.
B.
an unnamed narrator who describes an adult city dweller.
C.
an adult who recently moved to an urban location.
D.
a train conductor who is vigilant and very observant.
Answers
GPT-4o mini
The point of view from which the passage is told is best described as that of:
**C. an adult who recently moved to an urban location.**
The passage presents the thoughts and feelings of a narrator who is experiencing the city's environment for the first time, reflecting on a job interview and observing other subway passengers. This aligns closely with the perspective of someone who is new to the city.
**C. an adult who recently moved to an urban location.**
The passage presents the thoughts and feelings of a narrator who is experiencing the city's environment for the first time, reflecting on a job interview and observing other subway passengers. This aligns closely with the perspective of someone who is new to the city.