How Many Licks?

This Saturday afternoon, while heading downtown on the 6 train I find myself sitting in the end of the car with a group of three Latino youths. They are talking animatedly about last night’s adventure in their Brooklyn neighborhood and keep referring to each other as “nigga“ in almost every sentence. They are dressed in a trendy 1990s-ghetto-superstar sort of way, with over-sized baseball hats, high-top sneakers with jeans tucked in and bright beaded necklaces. They are not intimidating or even annoying, just interesting. I realize I am wearing a skirt and remember to close my legs. Two of them (along with myself) are completely enthralled in the third’s account of his arrest the previous night and the punishment he received from his ma.

That is some DOPE sh*t mannnn!
Nigga is youse for realz?

I then watch intently as one of them takes his IPhone out of his pocket and starts to lick it.


The youths only pause their conversation when a beggar comes through the doors between the cars. Only super sketch people come through between the cars while the train is moving (stay tuned for more on this subject in a future post). The homeless man announces himself to everyone in the typical manner.

Ladies and Gentleman can I kindly request a moment of your time today, you see I am just
looking for something to eat…..

Blah blah blah. He had a stroke that damaged his liver and kidneys. He can’t work. He has no one to care for him. He isn’t angry or bitter about his situation just hungry and tired. Wouldn’t you please mind helping him?

Out of the corner of my eye I see him go stand next to my boyfriend, who is leaning up against the other side of the car, and stand uncomfortably close to him. My boyfriend squirms slightly but keeps a stone-straight face.

Although he is a bit more loud and piercing than most, I don’t look up. Nobody looks up. Everyone pretends to be reading the advertisement above their seats, a poster with the upcoming fall schedule of an ESL school in Queens.