Last Night in the Subway

I had been singing aloud to myself, somewhat quietly, but none too surreptitiously.

On the L.

Felt a little conspicuous ’cause that girl was probably noticing.

But not enough.

I guess.

On the Brooklyn-bound G platform, a determinedly geeky guy in nerd specs and shorts was playing terrific contemporary accordion to enthusiasm and maybe some cash.

Maybe.

While on the Queens-bound side, a small girl, at least minimally adult in years and plugged into at least one earbud, meticulously danced a solitary Latin dance with no embarrassment.

Practicing.

I think.

From my perspective, she was dancing in silence, so it was like watching a geographically confused tai-chi. No one else appeared be noticing her as she did not appear to be requesting notice. Those seeking entertainment watched the accordion player across the tracks.

On the G, I returned to my singing. Immediately, I felt a large black guy watching me.

But he seemed to smile a small, approving smile.

Ooh.

He worked for the MTA.

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