The clean cut black guy, laughing and joking toward a pal in a neighboring seat, was neither with nor near a pal. He was self-contained. A nut, either natively or self-inflicted.
Laughing about a “homo,” I think.
Maybe it was just the word homo that pleased him. Endlessly. As the A train crawled more slowly that a human could, a marathon in slow motion between two stops.
A Latin guy yelled incomprehensibly about Jesus. Probably.
Jesus was the only word I could make out if I am correct. It was a recurring, almost recognizable motif.
I suppose he might have been incomprehensible even if the words could be understood.
On the platform at West 4th, I can’t remember for sure what the ever-so-slightly crazed looking Oriental fellow was doing to unnerve me as I passed. I think it was a martial arts move of some kind, unredeemed by a mustache that probably should have been ironic.
But probably wasn’t.