Jam Packed

Right outside my building I see Ezra F.  He says hello and I cross the street, on my way to the subway.  When I reach Overlook, I look back towards 187th and I can see Ruthie W. walking with her husband.

The platform is packed.  Marc R. is here and nods to me; I say hello and continue walking, through a myriad of people, towards my spot.   Passing Kara G. I wave, and she smiles in return.  Jon E. is standing near my spot when I reach it.

An A train comes and goes without stopping.  There are numerous announcements about mechanical delays on the A line as the station continues to fill with impatient passengers.  When another train finally arrives it is already packed with people and I spend the ride squashed between a small man of questionable scent and the very large purse of a woman. 

Almost Over

Walking to the train, I see Ruthie W. on Overlook. She doesn’t see me and walks into the station just ahead of me. When I get to the platform, I see Moshe D. L. and we both nod a “good morning” to each other. Further ahead on the platform I see Ruthie again.

Sitting on one of the benches is a woman, in brown top and light colored jeans, using an eyelash curler. Public nail-clipping might be the only viler thing I’ve seen done on MTA property. When the train arrives and she boards, I wonder if she will continue to use the curling device. A little bit of turbulence could render her blind in the eye, yet she seems ready to take the risk.

At 59^th, I see Jerry B. but walk by him too quickly to say hello. When I was in college we both stinted as waiters in the University dining hall. He then went on to marry a hometown friend of mine so I still see him from time to time.

I squish onto the D, wondering what the new Jewish year will bring.