White Christmas to a cold subway of people on iPhones. One woman started to sing along, but no one cared and everyone got on the train.
Once on the train, I noticed a man stapling head shots to his resume, organizing his papers and talking to himself. Once the stapling was done and packed in his bag, he began to speak more emphatically, gesturing angrily and furiously. At 72nd street he snapped out of it for a second to check the stop, and offered his seat to several people, none of whom knew the contents of his bag, and just stared at him for the remainder of the ride as he continued to quietly yell at people who weren't there. I hope he did well.
Always on my walk along 9th Avenue, near 58th Street, there is a huddled pile of clothing in which lies a man. It's hard to spot that he exists in it, he is such a master at folding himself under coats and sweaters and blankets. Each time I see him, he's found a new solution to contorting himself within the bustle of his surrounding space, sitting on a box, propped agains a post, leaning against a doorway, but always hidden.
Headed towards the subway, a man was screaming into his phone, "It's not our f---ing problem! They can hold their own d--n doors!......." And I wondered what the voice on the other end sounded like.
In yet another subway station, Time Square, a man sang Stevie Wonder covers slightly off-key and flute music wafted from a far away platform.
It would seem there is no time to take in any of it, except that so often these things happen during times of waiting, during transitions where nothing else is directly needing attention. People are being people all the time....
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