:: Monday, February 25, 2008 ::
I don't like psychics either
If I could just bring a mere piece of life in the NYC subway to all my readers in Oklahoma, everyone would maybe understand my small obsession with this city. At first I tried to recall all of the many pointless conversations, the random music, live I may add, in the cars, the scary homeless people and so much more, but then I realized my attempts are futile for even the best memory can't recall it all.
My mind flashes back to the baby making couple, the teenagers trying to determine the extremity of a guy's cheating, the barking homeless guy (last night), the homeless guy who's gimick to get people to give money to him was "Don't be cheap ya'll. Don't be cheapskates," the conductor who whispers into the microphone like a late night love line host (who's train I am on now).
But there is so much more. The raging alcoholic, the kid who punched me, the time I got on the wrong train and wound up in harlem, the time I had one guy reading hebrew on my left and another reading arabic on my right and I felt I was maintaining world peace.
The conversation about which "shorty" to date, the time I could distinguish seven different conversations in seven different languages, the reflector pants (today) and the girl who hates psychics (tonight). The time the business guy sat right next to me on a mostly empty train and smelled horribly of feet. The time I was on a cram packed rush hour train and someone busted booty that reeked like something died twice over.
For any other New Yorker this is all nothing to scoff at. For me I'm still amazed by it all. The city that never sleeps. Or bathes.
I need to stop posting on my blog on the train because it makes me highly cynical, but what else am I going to do with my hour commute twice a day?
God is good. All the time.
P.s. Yet another musing from the MTA late night Q-train.
:: Ben 10:32 PM [+] ::