There is a man on the escalator going the wrong way. He has been walking, step after step, for over five hours now. People squeeze by him as they descend to the first floor, while he remains at the very bottom, trying to come up while the stairs cycle downwards. Sweat pools on his neck and the bottom of his back. I watch him, straining, his face growing pale. I wonder if anyone will grab his shoulders, look him in the eye, and point to the other escalator, not ten feet away, that will take him to the second floor. I stand up and survey the store, and by the look on everyone’s faces, I think they’re wondering if someone will, too.