Photo by dear daughter
Sights on the way home from work…
Man in suit, stops and kindly asks ,”how do you know where the train will stop?” I start to answer, then another young man leans in, interrupts and starts to answer too. We start debating the best way to get to stranger’s destination. Typical New Yorkers.
Now waiting for second train, the train that will take me to my stop. Walking behind twenty-somethings. Him, skinny jeans, baseball cap, her – skinny jeans, small purse with gold chain slung across her body. She says I am hungry. He begins harranguing her, “don’t you tell me that now….” Subway train roars by, I just hear bits, “I TOLD you.” “Selfish.” She is silent, walking briskly, his mouth keeps moving, his words pushing her through the platform. I finally pass them, by this time she is squatting & covering her head, as he continues to berate her. Our train comes, I get on a different car.
Now I am on my final leg home. Man is sleeping on crowded, rush hour train. I grab overhead bar over him, standing near his head. I Space out, make lists, dream about dinner. When I hear, “He’s got his hand down his pants.” I don’t WANT to look, but I have to. And yep, hand down pants, I was hoping for a scenario of an innocent and understandable itch DOWN THERE. It can happen to us all, right? right? but NO, he IS jacking-off. On my ride home. RIGHT below me. So I move. No one else does a thing.
Finally home, I walk a few block to pick up my kids. Watch man, on bike, texting with one hand, steering with another.
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