C train from Brooklyn to W 50th St.I sit in the first available seat. Next to me is Senior Nurse Clinician Margaret Sarozzo, in white uniform, probably back from a shift. She has tired eyes and deep creases around her mouth giving her a severe look. She takes out a hairbrush from her bag and combs her hair. She then takes out eye liner and savagely pulls her lower eyelid down to apply it. Next comes lipstick. I wonder if she is trying to look less haggard for her husband back home, or if she is heading straight for a date. Across from her, and me, a young couple are all smiles and giggles. He attempts to put eyedrops in her eyes and misses badly as the train hurtles down the tracks rocking from side to side. She laughs. On my other side a Latino older woman stares at the young couple with a faint smile and a dreamy look in her eyes. She seems fascinated by them. As if seeing herself in the younger woman’s place. Further up the car a very tall transgender black woman sits straight backed staring at nothing, as if feeling my eyes on her, earphones in her ears. She has purposefully teared jeans and I can’t help notice how her shirt rises a bit up her lower back to reveal her bulging waistline. The train stops and a tall young man with a basketball that fits in his hand like a tennis ball would fit in mine enters. He is all muscle and sinew and stands stooped, his head brushing the sloped ceiling, listening to his earphones. “Next is 50th St. Stand clear of the closing doors” goes the train conductor and breaks me from my reverie. This would be my stop. I look up only to find an older man staring at me, staring at others, trying to look severe and detached.I love New York.
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