Roaches

Sometimes even menial tasks like taking out the garbage can be a strain. It's no wonder then, that my commute has already begun on the wrong foot. I'm in a clearly bad mood: late, tired, hungry (no time for breakfast) and the tag on my shirt is nagging at my neck. All this and I haven't even reached Overlook.

At 739 W 186th, on the first floor, there is a blond girl sitting at her window on the first floor. She does not see me, and neither does the young Latina typing on a Blackberry Bold from inside her parked car.

Newspaper Guy is back at the station today and I’m happy to see him and get a good morning from him. The train is approaching and people start running for it, but I am too tired to rush and miss it.

On the platform there is a terrible stench coming from a homeless person. It is truly awful and I have little choice but to walk past my usual spot to reach the necessary critical distance. That’s when I spot Adina S.

I love bumping into Adina on the train, although it inevitably means I’m even later than I suspected. She is wearing a bright green shirt, black skirt with leggings underneath and cool black sneakers with a white stripes. Her backpack, from NY Sports Club, is ripped but she is ignoring the tear.

We ride the train together and I want to take a picture of Adina for my blog but she doesn’t let. Instead, she tells me a subway related story. Once, when she was reading on the train, a roach fell on her book from the ceiling, and she couldn’t shake it off until she finally had to throw the whole book on the ground, amidst the gaze on onlookers.

From there the conversation turns quickly to subway rats and station mice, until I get off at 59th. The B arrives shortly afterward and I realize it no longer matters how late it is. I am going to need to stop for coffee.