A wide, barrel-like, red trolleybus quickly filled up with people; long lines quickly disappeared into them. New passengers kept walking up. Galsky and the owner of a flowery butterfly were followed by several students, a nun, three housewives, two city power-plant installers with their tools, an elderly man in a hat with earflaps, an infantry officer, a thin longhaired man, a dolled-up girl in a yellow handkerchief, and many others.
The young conductress with a pretty face gave the signal, and the vehicle set off. There were shouts from the sidewalk:
– Wait! Wait! There are still people here! – as if trolleybuses mainly transported wheat. The driver stopped. The trolleybus was already so crowded that the possibility of getting money out of your pocket seemed as equally unattainable as squaring a circle, but the passengers started to pull out money anyway, knocking hats and handkerchiefs off each other’s heads, hitting their neighbors in sensitive places. Again, the yells came from the street: – Come on, people! There is so much space in the middle, but this child is hanging onto the steps! – and the passengers pressed even harder, getting their hands in other people’s pockets, sleeves and collars. A beautiful lady clung tightly to Dr Galsky, who, trying to move away from her out of politeness, painfully pinned the leg of the young man with the ‘butterfly’.