Bagels and Blogs

Heading out the door and down the block I see Julian H. He lives in the neighborhood and a few years ago we served together on the board of trustees at the local synagogue. Other than that, I don't really know much about him. I get to the station and swipe through the turnstile, then start fiddling for my headphones, which are all tangled up inside my front pocket. I'm excited to listen to my new Kate Nash CD, which I've ripped to my Blackberry.

I see Aviva P. on the platform and would normally say hello but she seems to be very wrapped up in whatever it is she is reading, so I just move on along the platform. I can't believe that same tall girl is here again, as is that guy I saw two weeks ago whom I've met, but who's name I can never remember. I whiz by him before he can see me and pass Benny S. Benny waves and says good morning; I wave back and finally get the earphones untangled and into my ears.

Just as I'm sifting through the music to find Kate, I see Rebecca. She's wearing an open white top with a black t-shirt underneath, a jean skirt, and flip flops. She smiles and says she can't talk to me, as anything she says "can and will be used against" her. "Do people feel more apprehensive about talking to me in the morning" she wants to know. I tell her not really, and we start trading blog tips almost until we reach 59th. We also discuss the Maalot website and a local volunteering event she is helping to organize.

She stays on the A train and I switch to the orange line. Next to me are two Italian girls. At first I can't figure out what language they are speaking but an elongated "mama mia!" gives them away. One of them is tall, thin and very classy, although she has noticeably small teeth. The other one has an overbite.

I'm off at 47th and, going up the stairs, I notice one of the neighbors from my building not far behind. I don't know her name, but I do know her husband is shorter than she is, and I think she has three or four children. She's often on the same A train as me but I don't usually see her beyond the transfer. Feeling hungry, I detour two blocks to the closest Kosher bagel store, and before my cappuccino is ready she walks in. I suppose that's what being Orthodox in the city is all about. Everyone you know is always there, and so is everyone you don't know.