. . . a chubby-faced Hispanic girl with pimples kissing her boyfriend in the nook formed by the construction barricades in the 34th Street subway station oblivious to the morning rush hour crowds hustling by and screeching stopping trains.
Why? I don't know; maybe it's because I never did anything remotely like that and you don't get to try everything once even if you feel you might like to.
And if I was her, I might wish I was a middle-aged white guy sitting in a window of a downtown train on his way to a hyperstable white-collar job as a book editor who thinks you can live stuff and you can write stuff but you can't often enough do both.
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1 comment:
This is beautifully stated. I am a people watcher and I always wonder who the people are who are watching me watch them.
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