An Open Letter To:

The Guy in the Bada Bing! T-Shirt on the 6 Train Five Minutes Ago.

You had spiky gray/blond hair and a tanned, craggy face; you instantly reminded me of the macho gym teacher on Beavis & Butthead. You were buff, and chose to share your buffness with the rest of the train, not opting for a coat on this sub-freezing morning. You also shared your resplendent blue t-shirt with the rest of the train, one extolling the merits of the Bada Bing!

You wore track pants and had no shortage of gold around your neck, including a large pendant in the shape of a scorpion. It matched a scorpion tattoo on your forearm. You had pinkie rings on both pinkies.

Were you to meet Paulie Walnuts–and perhaps you have–one would presume that it would take next to no time for the two of you to be chatting like old chums.

You were perspiring–also a bit peculiar for this frigid morning. Perhaps you’d just been pumping iron?

The train was somewhat crowded, and you were nudging forward toward the pole, enough so that the woman you were nudging into turned to freeze you with a look–though a man in a t-shirt on a 30-degree day clearly cannot be frozen with a mere glance. Her eyes lingered an extra moment to take in your spectacle.

Your meaty hand was about six inches above mine on the pole. I saw it inching downward, and for a moment considered moving my hand above yours, though that would’ve left me in an uncomfortable position.

By the next stop, the inevitable happened. Your hand had dropped enough so that it came into contact with mine. Mortified by the unwanted intimacy, both of us instantly jerked our hands away from the pole; surely strangers were chuckling at the site of us asserting our straightness with such a decisive rejection of this epidermal congress. Were we to have spoken, surely both of us would’ve exclaimed something to the effect of, “I’m not gay! And if I was, I wouldn’t be with you.”

Anyway, my muscle-bound friend, the contact added more chill to a chilly morn. And unlike you, I’m not impervious to the cold.

See you at the Bing!

Sincerely,

Trainjotting