A man steps onto the metro, right in the center of the car. He waits for the doors to close, adjusting his enormous bag and laptop case. As the metro starts to move, he drops a handful of paperclips onto the brown-carpeted floor. The paper clips stand up. He smiles, and waits for someone to notice. They do, and nervous man-giggling starts up all around me. He begins to opine on the possibilities for why this might be; he notes for his audience as the paperclips dance up and down that they only do this as the train brakes or accelerates. On some cars, he says, his "pets" lean right and on some they lean left. On some they never dance at all. They lay down during a period of glide and he leans over awkwardly to sweep them up. The train slows to a stop, and he gets off, a wide grin in place. A teacher by nature, who knows what by trade.