My Sunday Scribblings contribution: A snapshot of a fictional subway ride to work in NYC.
"Give me some skin, man." I look up from my knitting and see a tall, bald white guy, talking to his short black friend. Tattoos dance up and down Tall's arms as the two slap hands. They stand above my seat, screaming over the rumble of the subway car snaking through the tunnel, as if they're the only one on the train. Or as if we all cared who got drunk last night and ended up sleeping on his front stoop in Brooklyn.
Knit, knit, purl, purl, I say to myself, but all I can really hear is Short describing the sex he had with his girlfriend the night before. I glance to the passenger next to me and she raises her eyebrows.
"You going to see Carla?" Tall asks. I imagine she must be the screamer from last night.
Short nods, and then smiles a smile that makes it clear he was still thinking about those screams.
"What you making?" my Dan Brown-reading neighbor asks.
"A hat," I say. "My best friend just had a baby."
"Sweet," she says.
As Short goes on to describe the sex he plans to have today, I say to the woman, a little too loudly, "Yeah, the best friend whose sex life I know less about than Carla's."