Riding the 6 train, I've been noticing more than I usually do--unharried as I am by job or real world worries.
Some items that amused me:
A trio of Seinfeld-esque characters with requisite late '80s/early '90s cut jeans with ice skaters slung over their shoulders making their way to Bryant Park. Very white people discussing the demerits of black people using the "n" word.
A grungy high school chap with two large hula hoops, hugging one of the subway poles for dear life as the train lurched sharply between Union Square and Astor Place--carefully twirling his joint between his thumb and index fingers.
A woman wearing pants so tight, every demarcation of her underwear was clearly visible--like car wreck inspired rubber-necking few could look away. I'm not sure which I'm advocating more: thongs or looser pants--both? Yes, in that moment I was the fashion police.
A good-lookng black man, stylishly suited and booted reading "Predator's Ball"--incidentally has nothing to do with basketball for you stereotypers in our midst, but a must-read for the finance crowd (according to Shiv).
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