Monday, January 2, 2017

The beautiful IRT

Growing up the IRT was a drag. I lived by the A and the 1 and I never took the 1. It didn't go anywhere I needed to be. 

Today I chose the IRT over the A because the A is notoriously slow and problematic. These days the 1,2 and 3 are always running fast. I got  to the station and a 3 pulled in in 1 minute, not 6, not 9, not 20. When it got to 14 th street, the 1 sat there waiting for us. It didn't shut the doors just as a I got off the 3. It was so polite. I ran over and jumped on. So easy.

Before I transferred, I sat on the 3 across from the most glorious young couple. They were right out of the early 80's Danceteria scene. The woman was so soft and gorgeous and feminine with a Debbie Harry bob complete with bangs, originally dark but made platinum and then double processed a fine pale champaign parfait grey, fluffy and messy and so pretty. She had a wide flat smile with flat teeth and wide cheekbones and full lovely lips, I almost felt embarrassed by how much I wanted to stare at her. She was angelic, no hard edges even though she was wearing great style. She had on black sweat pants, a black sweater, a long dark overcoat and high tops with a hidden wedge and she had long nails painted black. Every time she smiled at her partner, I almost blushed and looked away. The guy was all about Jean Michel Basquiat. He was dark and lovely and had that same hairstyle that Basquiat wore. Our eyes met and we exchanged a big smile.

At the other end of the train a tiny old white woman screamed at an imaginary enemy, pointing cursing and accusing.  She was so angry and kept it up the whole ride. My end of the car was so good it didn't matter. The only thing that kept me from thinking I was in a time machine was that the woman was knitting, something she would have never done if it were still the 80's.

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