Today on the L Train

Great day for people watching. Rush hour this morning I had three people keeping me occupied.

Across from me, standing in the doorway, was a tall guy with 5 days of beard growth, tight jeans, salt and pepper hair gelled forward and up, with mirrored sunglasses. He was something to behold. Like a rock-god daring everyone to try not to notice him. He didn’t move much, just basked in his own glory.

Seated next to me was a large woman in a faux-fur coat. It was maybe supposed to be snow leopard, but it looked more like dalmatian. As if Cruella DeVille sat down next to me after skinning and eating the 101. The coat was floor length with a hood. When she sat down she grew in size. Her bosom lifted and her thighs spread. I wanted to reach out a finger and stroke the coat. I sat with my arms crossed, trying to get the courage to poke it just once. To feel it. To confirm it was fake and not a litter of unfortunate puppies. But I refrained.

The most interesting passenger was a frog-faced man standing in front of me. He was listening to music through his headphones but the volume was turned high enough that anyone could hear it. The music was familiar. It started with a disco beat and then a blast of synthesized trumpets. In between noticing the rock-god and fighting the urge to pet the dalmatians, I pulled up the song in my memory. It was the theme song to CHiPs! This guy was psyching up his day with the music that serenaded Erik Estrada down the highways of Los Angeles.

Which set my mind wandering. What should my Friday theme song be? If I was taking the Staten Island Ferry into Manhattan it would definitely be Carly Simon’s Let the River Run (theme from Working Girl). Arriving on a train in a tunnel under the East River calls up something less spectacular, something moody. Something.. … I don’t know.

Eventually, we arrived at Union Square, where I transfered trains and began thinking about other things.

Today on the L Train

I found myself taking an unplanned trip into the office on a Sunday. It’s interesting to see the train when it’s not crowded with rush hour commuters and late night drinkers. More than a handful of Orthodox Jewish women, heads shaved and wigged, in smart shoes and accompanied by their progeny. Their blatino counterparts pushing SUV sized strollers. A few women coming home from church in their crowns.

At one stop I was able to maneuver into a seat situated next to a sharply dressed woman - houndstooth wool coat, black tights, low heels, conservative makeup. She sat upright with a gymnast’s posture. Two minutes into our neighborhood, she extended her left arm straight out, made a fist, pointed her index finger back at herself and brought it to her nose, then extended her arm again, then brought it back to her nose, and extended, nose, extended, nose. She did this about 6 times.

I’ve noticed over the last month that I stare. Sometimes I point, but today I was travelling alone. I turned my head and looked right at her face and arm. Shoulder to shoulder, we were about 6 inches apart. She ignored me.

Arriving at my stop, I exited and walked to work.