The elevator doors slide open at the lobby and three women, one pushing a baby carriage, walk in. Not for a moment does it occur to them that the lone passenger already on the elevator - in this case me - might want to get out first. The ensuing result is a 25 second delay replete with backtracking, bumping, and odd maneuvering.
It's damn cold outside. This May may be the coldest month of May in my Manhattan life. I am greeted outside the train station by the AM New York Guy, who's paper I politely decline. Opera Chick is on the platform and though her sounds are strikingly beautiful at first, her singing becomes quite the frustration after just a few minutes.
On the A, I sit across from three chatty Hispanic women, all drinking cheap coffee from the same deli. The youngest is sitting on the left, sporting a slim figure, a tiny button nose, and curly hair. All the way on the right is the oldest, with dark hair that is gray at the roots. She is reading a card, and starts to suddenly laugh out loud. From the left, Youngest leans over Middle and says to Oldest that she wanted to buy one of those big giant cards but couldn't find one. "Oh yea!" pipes in Middle. "I got one of those once and I loved it. I kept it, still have it." Two stops Youngest, gets up to leave and is instructed by Oldest, who can easily be her mother to "text me all the details!". The two remaining women talk about babies the rest of the ride.
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