on the 18th of january, i got on the M-train. had i listened to my overly sentimental nature, i would’ve been disappointed that the M recently replaced the V, which used to make its final stop at the piss-smelling 2nd avenue stop. but even i have had to admit that the queens-to-queens M-train is much more reasonable for fellow commuters.
like a friend, i too prefer the older cars with yellow and orange seats, a memento of the warmth and solidarity of the 70’s. on this day, however, the train was one of those new ones with fewer, blue seats and very bright, cold light.
this guy wearing a backpack sat down on the free three-seater next to me, long enough post platform departure that i sensed something was off. half a stop or so later, backpack guy stood up, walked over to someone sitting across the car, took a stand beside/above the passenger and stared at the his face. though they didn’t say a word to each other, i figured they must be acquainted. i looked away as to not intrude, when in the corner of my eye i saw the backpack guy, now with an enraged look on his face, nearing the passenger’s head with his hand. startled, the not-yet-struck passenger got up and made it clear that he was stepping off the train at the approaching stop. indifferent to what just happened, backpack guy cruised over to the next set of doors and disappeared into the chinese violin sounding hurry-hub that is west 4th.
strange, i thought, and experienced one of those rare stranger-to-stranger connections when the stunned passenger sat back down, our eyes met and he executed one of those faultless, very american to-the-side-and-up nods of ‘that guy was a fucking nut job’.
