Le Pensuer

When a shiny minivan pulls up next to me on 186th street, I think at first that the car is just parking. It is, but it turns out Gershon S. is the driver and, after spotting me through the windshield, starts honking like a madman. We chat for a while and he tells me about his new upstart business, Hudson Heights Restoration.

Zehava K. walks by and I join up with her. She wants to hear all about Matt's wedding in Israel, which I attended in May. I spot Lisa K. on Overlook while talking to Zehava, and we also pass Rabbi B. He waves. When we reach the platform, Uri M. walks by and says hello.

Zehava looks ponderous and I want her to assume the position of Le Penseur, to photograph for my blog, but she doesn't agree. On the train, she grabs a seat but I stand, preferring that to squeezing between two fairly large people on the bench across from her. At 59th, we both get off and wave goodbye.

Walking towards Park, I see my old girlfriend Debbie R. but by the time I recognize her, it's too late to say hello. As quickly as the fleeting summer nights so many, many years ago, she has disappeared into her office building.

Funk 54

Sometimes I get funny ideas, like wondering if it would be feasible to commute on a hot air balloon (perhaps it would make for a more interesting blog). Turning from Bennett onto 186th, I hear someone calling my name. Its Gershon S. Known to most people simply as "Stats," Gershon is a star guitar player that once played with a very popular garage band based out of Washington Heights.

Up ahead I see Benny S. and walking behind me is Ezra F. When I reach the platform, I see Lisa K. who waves to me and eventually I pass Benny, who also waves.

I take a seat on a bench near my spot, and a young man sitting next to me gets up to say hi to a woman in a stingy straw fedora. I notice he has a blue, "Spark" flavored Vitamin Water, one that I've never seen before.  Adina, whose last name I can’t quite remember, says hello just as I'm boarding the train. We get on the same car, along with Benny, but I sit alone and finish reading my New Yorker.

The Heat Is On

I head downstairs at 7:24 and find it overwhelmingly hot for mid November. I insisted on wearing my new sweater and realize now I should have compensated with a lighter jacket.

Steven S. is on Bennett. We exchange hello and how are you and keep going. Around the corner, I bump into Lisa K. and we say hi as well.

I get into the station and onto the platform. Rachel L. is there again, sitting on a bench, and I take a seat next to her. She has a cold, and I have a bit of a lingering cough, so we talk to each other while looking straight ahead - at the "181" signs across the tracks - to avoid breathing at each other.

While talking to Rachel I see Rena G. on the catwalk above the platform. Before I started writing my blog, I almost always used the catwalk, to avoid bumping into people and being forced into conversation too early in the morning.

I can hear the train in the distance and say goodbye to Rachel as I head to my spot. I run into Doron S. and we walk together towards the front, passing Emily L. on the way.

Doron and I sit together and he takes off his jacket, revealing a spiffy blue shirt with beige trim squares. It's a tough color to match but he's done a good job. We chat a bit and, seeing my phone, he asks about Blackberry apps. After a little while we decide to each do our own thing. He puts on his headphones and I go back to writing emails. We work across the street from each other, so we both switch at 59th, but I head further up on the platform. I am planning to get a bagel.

One Big Happy Family

Walking towards the train station, I see Mrs. H. talking to Gilit H. at the corner, near the Breuer’s elementary school. Walking behind me is the guy who works in my office building who’s name I don’t know. Aliza B. is also somewhere behind me.

I enter the station, and the smell of urine is a bit stronger than usual. The guy from my office passes me in the tunnel, and then I pass him back on the stairs, heading down to the platform.

The platform is replete with familiar faces. David M. is standing close to the edge, looking out for the next train, and Caryn L. is sitting on one of the benches. Benny S. is talking to a girl; I can’t quite make out who she is. When the train arrives they board the same car as I do, as does Lisa K. I disappear to the corner and watch TV on my phone.

Rain Friday

It's raining but I am too lazy to carry an umbrella, and from the looks of it I can manage without. I see Aliza G. just outside my building. She is spending a few weeks out of town, at her parents, but came in for one night, to attend an interview.

On 186th I see Lisa K. and she waves from across the street. There is a woman in sporty clothes on the porch of 45 Overlook, presumably stretching before a run, but she actually seems to be engaged a full Pilates session. I keep walking and see the Station Homeless Guy in front of the entrance to the A. He asks for charity, and I wonder where his girlfriend is. Inside the station, I also begin to wonder if he is responsible for the putrid smell of urine that permeates the tunnel.

I go through the turnstiles and down to the platform, where Alisha K. is thoroughly engaged, like other Orthodox subway-riding women, in her morning payers. I walk down to my spot, praying the rain will have stopped by the time I get out.

Wrinkles and Gym

I'm on the train already and the only person I've seen so far is Lisa K. I'm not even completely certain it was her, since she was way ahead of me on Overlook. Next to me on the left is a plump woman in a purple and white striped shirt with a black jacket over it. She is wearing black pants and black shoes, and is reading a book by Joseph Finder. On the other side a bleach-blond woman is reading the paper. She has beige sandals that cover her two smallest toes on either foot and forces two others to curl in an odd direction. The wrinkles above her lips say she is the reason is smells like smoke.

The plump woman gets off at 168th and I slide into her seat so that I can lean on the wall. A man in a plaid shirt squeezes into the middle seat, between me and the smoker. He is large, rugged, and scruffy, with a white towel in his hands that I would swear was missing from the inventory of a local gym. He settles in with no menacing gestures.

Across from us a picture perfect American couple is talking to a man named Bill. Bill gets off at 59th, as do I, but they are staying on till 14th street. I wait on the platform for the next train and after about 10 minutes both the B and D arrive simultaneously. They both ride on the same route from this station and when this happens, commuters are never sure which will be the first to exit the station. On rare occasions I can see the stop lights towards the front of the platform, or an announcement is made. Today, however, I must rely on guesswork. The B or the D? The B or the D? I can't decide. The B or the D? Finally, I hop onto the D and it turns out I'm lucky, but it just goes to show that decisions are the hardest choicest we ever have to make.

Slimdown

My pants don't fit. I'm already running late and struggling to buckle them so I decide to leave them as is. I strap on a belt and problem solved - the buckle covers the open button - and I head downstairs. In the elevator a neighbor is telling his son about the largest cucumber known to man, which has been grown by a farmer in Israel.

Halfway to the A train I see Sara Ch. about a half-block behind me. I also see that the top of my pants are sticking out above the belt buckle, and I have to suck myself inwards to snap them shut. Does she see me? A few minutes later I turn around and she waves.

Just as I pass through the turnstile, Sara catches up and swipes her card. Insufficient fare! She turns back for a new metro card. We've just missed the downtown so I wait up and when she finally gets in we walk down the platform together. We talk about the wedding in Chicago everyone is going to this weekend. The only time she's been to the Midwest was a September trip to Milwaukee, and she was very cold.

I get to my usual spot and Sara keeps going. Karen L. is here and I take a seat next to her on the bench. We chat about the Chicago trip as well. She can't go because she and her husband need to be in Boston. Karen is reading "Nicholas Nickleby" by Charles Dickens, a giant of a book which she's almost finished. She thinks it's a terrible book for the subway, because it's too heavy to carry.

Karen and I are still chatting when Zehava K. walks by. She says saw me earlier, from her window, walking to the subway. To other people this might feel creepy but to know Zehava is to know the great joy she gets from watching the pedestrian traffic from her Bennett Avenue abode. She will also be at the wedding and as the three of us chat I notice Zehava has lost weight. Last Sunday, the two of us went bicycle riding over the George Washington Bridge and into NJ. I had trouble keeping up and although I'd like to blame my knees or my less sporty bike, I am just not up to snuff yet.

We hear the train approaching in the distance and Zehava leaves to get closer to the front. Lisa K. shows up and says hello but quickly disappears as Karen and I wait to board. The same tall girl from last week is here too. Further on the platform I can see Shosh P. but she is too far away for me to get her attention, and it's too bad, especially since she knows about my blog. I can't help but wonder if, when it comes to seeing her own name in print, she would prefer a day of anticipation or a surprise at night.