Concentric Circles

I head downstairs and find my building’s superintendant in front of 115, chatting with some other supers. I get to the station and I can hear the train coming, so I make a run for the turnstiles and get down the stairs just in time.

The woman sitting next to me is wearing black pants and a denim coat which obscures her shirt. She is middle aged, with curly blond hair, a copy of AM New York on her lap. She is eating a Danish and sipping coffee, which smells good. Her earrings are composed of several loops, each one progressively smaller and encompassed by its predecessor. They remind me of a conversation I once had with Rachel, who still lives in my neighborhood. She pointed out that friendships are like concentric circles, we have our best and closest friends, the innermost circle. Then some good friends, the second circle, and so on until we get to the outermost circle of random acquaintances.