The Arm

This morning I was wedged against the door on the 5 train and a woman had to reach over me to get a grip on one of the poles. This spot on the car is always particularly awkward because in the middle is a no-mans land with nothing to grab onto. Either you hang onto nothing and risk being flung around or awkwardly and invasively lean over a stranger to reach a pole

Arm in my face, I got to study this woman, or at least her limb, very closely all the way from 14th street to the Brooklyn Bridge stop. There are not too many opportunities anywhere else to so closely absorb the intricate details of such a small portion of another’s physique. The arm was slender and lightly tanned but leathery with lots of little freckles, her saggy skin folds creasing around her elbow. They say with age it’s either face or fanny. Simple but harsh features, grayish blond hair too long for her age. In her late-forties, probably a “free-spirit” back in the day but probably now an annoying far-left college professor or maybe a self-involved artist. Definitely a vegetarian.

On the platform at Union Square this afternoon I saw a little plastic bag with poop in it. I think it was animal- not human. That’s better right?