On the Train

People tell me that as a writer, I should notice the world around me more often; I should watch people more carefully, stare them down and re-create their lives. This morning, on the D train, I found myself doing just that.

In the corner, was a woman furiously chewing at her knuckles. Her yoga mat was folded in threes rather than neatly rolled up in her over-sized Tory Burch bag. She wore these white hospital sneakers and way too baggy clothes on her pencil thin body…

Sitting down was a woman who spoke no English. I could tell by the way she would squint her eyes to hear the announcements coming over the speaker system inside the subway car. She sat as close to the door as she could so she could read the numbers on the wall, I presume. Her bag was much taller than she was and she had a notebook and her tiny little cell phone in her hand. Ah, so this is where all the flip phones went…

Next, there was a couple of couples: a  guy and girl with brown hair and a brown haired guy and a blonde girl. They were all tall and would be exiting at 14th street. You got on at 86th street…prepare to be on the train for another 30 minutes. They were all tall, taller than me, anyway. Then again, everyone is. The brown haired couple was apartment hunting: brownstones, condos, co-ops. Apparently, 14th street was their next destination for a the search for a home. Newlyweds…definitely…or maybe almost newlyweds, soon to be newlyweds. The other two, his significant other is pregnant. She’s not that far along, but she is pregnant. Her belly is growing out she looks amazing. She is having a boy…

See what I mean though? Once the wheels start turning, you just cannot stop the typewriter inside your brain from going. You can hear the resounding ping as it hits the end of the line. Then, your eyes are the slide as you move back to the left side of the paper and begin typing again.

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