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Observations
My morning started on a high note, when I noticed an older gentleman across the way glancing furtively around the train. He proceeded to pull a large ziploc full of greens from his well-stuffed messenger bag. And I couldn’t pull my eyes away from him as he began to shake some of the crispy, broken leaves out onto a small white paper. His hair was disheveled, his clothes all black, and his eyes droopy, but until I saw it happen, I never would have pegged him for a 9:08 a.m. stoner. Especially not a 9:08 a.m. public stoner. All rolled and ready, he exited at 49th Street.
Then, after my appointment with the doctor, whose office is all the way up at 90th, I made a stop at my old Duane Reade (for a Soyjoy, which can’t really be called food) and then headed back to the train, where I got lucky. One was rolling up just as I pushed through the turnstile. Just like glamour parking, I thought. But when I chose a car that looked mostly empty, what I found instead was a bunch of short people (children, but worse: day camp children) filling the seats with their bodies and the air with their noise. I was surrounded, in a sea of high-pitched squealers, and hopped off at the next stop to a less air-conditioned, but quieter car.
And it was there where I overheard an extremely loquacious person talking about “kids today” and “school” and “going to the movies too much”. It took me a minute to identify the familiarity of the voice, but here it is: what Bill Cosby would sound like if he impersonated himself. But when I looked up, I found the voice coming from a curious source: a woman… who, unfortunately for her, kind of looked like Bill, too.
Now who’s up for Jello?
