Updates have dropped off, and people are starting to complain.

Rode into work this morning on the F train, up to 42nd Street, and then the D to 161st. The F was crowded, as usual, and so I stood most of the trip. Watching people on the train is always entertaining. I stood watching a man in a plaid flannel shirt, right arm in a sling, sitting hunched over a sheet of paper, filled with what looked like poems. He was an older man, with thinning silvered hair, craggy face, and a thin gray mustache. He worked with a pen through the poems, underlining words and phrases, circling others, and making notes in the margins.

Next to him stood a tall man, also older, who tilted his head down and looked over the seated man as he marked up the poems. For a short time, the standing man seemed like a sort of tutor for the silver-haired man.

At one of the Brooklyn stops, perhaps Jay Street, I watched passengers board the train. An Asian woman entered and stood next to me. Her face is neither attractive nor unattractive, but its lines and planes are interesting to study. The face is also familiar, because the same woman stood right next to me on the train yesterday. Although I do tend to see certain people repeatedly during the week, it’s rare to be right next to the same person two days in a row.


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