Diary of a Geriatric Scarlet : November 7, 2050

I ride the subway, but only between 1-3:30pm, not including Fridays. If I arose earlier, I would also ride the subway between 10am and noon. But I do not arise earlier.

I am careful to time my journeys around rush hours and lunch breaks; I no longer continence a crowded train, one where available seats are scarce. I board the train with as much grace as one my age can muster. I sit by the doors, on the end of a row. I smooth my skirt and pat my hair and position my pocketbook upon my lap. I peer above my glasses at those who come and go.

Today I noticed the out-of-town guest of man I determined lived in the UWS. The guest hailed from Pennsylvania, judging by the chemical texture of her hair and the nature of her shoes and jeans. She leaned back upon the subway pole, gripping it betwixt her ass cheeks.

Perhaps it takes a few days or weeks or years in the city to gain perspective. To realize how one might look from behind. From beyond the pole.

The man from the UWS, her host, he realized. He made a gesture and a false start to perhaps explain to his Pennsylvanian friend the proper pole techniques. But he aborted the mission. They alighted at 79th Street.