Laughing Like Children

I leave my apartment and there is a tall, broad woman standing in the hallway, just outside my door. She has bleached platinum blond hair and is wearing white pants with a blue sweater, and is cursing into her cell phone with a Russian accent.

Down on Bennett, I see Gershon S. in front of the school building on 186th. He is a close friend and I haven’t seen him in ages. I try to catch up but by the time I reach the corner he is already gone.

I reach the station and wonder where Station Homeless Guy is, I haven’t seen him all week. At the platform, someone is playing the saxophone and I listen, until he stops, before putting my headphones on and listening to my own music.

On the train, there is a thin blond woman across from me. Her hair is long and straight, and her child, who’s gender I can’t quite tell, has the same color hair but in curly format. The mother puts on some lip liner, and the child – I guess it’s a girl - asks for some as well. The mother fishes through her purse to find some Vaseline Lip Therapy and the girl holds out her finger for it. A little dab on the index and then she spreads it on her lips. Suddenly, they both burst into laughter, and when they look at me and I laugh with them too.