An Asian, a Jew, and a Latina

Walking to the subway I miss a large pile of dog poo by only a slight margin. It's a lesson for me, to watch where I'm going when I'm typing on the Blackberry, even if no one else is on the street.

I've made the mistake of taking a jacket today - blame it on the overcast skies. I enter the station and it's too hot, I have to take it off and carry it.

The Newspaper Guy is not here today. There is a substitute, and it shouldn't matter since I've never bought from him anyway, but Newspaper Guy has become a staple in my life. He is always there, selling every major periodical and a selection of candy bars and Duracell batteries.

On the platform, I find a seat on the bench. There is a black bag next to me and a woman, mid-twenties and wearing a maroon dress with gray boots, is standing next to it, hands fishing inside. She is humming a tune and shaking her bottom at the subway tracks behind her.

The train arrives and I board. There are no seats, but I get a spot standing next to the door. Near me there is an Asian, a Jew, and a Latina chatting together. The three woman are discussing Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year, and one of them is complaining about someone else, whom she saw buying a bottle of wine for the holidays. "I just don't understand her," she says. I don't understand how the wine continues to dominate their conversation for so long, but by the time they are done I am wishing for nothing but a bottle of my own.