Wednesday, in the Subway

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.


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