Makes Me Wonder

I swear I'd like to slug that AM New York peddler square across the face. Every morning, she has the same stupid banter as I walk into the station.

Rabbi G. is on the platform and says hello.  On the train, I lean on one of the doors.  There is a seat nearby, occupied by none other than the bag of the passenger in the next chair.  Clad in a plethora of winter clothing, it's difficult to say whether the passenger is male or female.  It is, however, quite evident from facial characteristics and other various signs that the passenger is developmentally disabled.

A woman asks the passenger to move the bag so she can sit. She is answered with a frighteningly blank stare.  Another woman walks over and also asks to sit, and the passenger tantrums momentarily, twice punching the wall and letting loose a gargantuan groan.  Then, without a word, the passenger removes the bag.  Neither of the two women wants to take the seat, however, and it is a third woman, boarding at the next stop, who takes it without incident.

It makes me sad, and I start to wonder about many things in life.  The train arrives at 59th and I step off, spotting Doron S. in the distance. On 6th Avenue, while walking to Milk and Honey for breakfast, I see Yochanan A.  I don't think he notices me and I just walk by, in a rush to get to work on time.  Then it suddenly occurs to me - the passenger was wearing pink.  She was a woman.