Cowboys
Returning from Southeast at 5:09 p.m., I sat in a quarter-filled car, reading my book, Hindu Gods, The Spirit of the Divine [Editor's Note: Whahh??], coming down off my gig speaking to drug court practicioners when the conductor came by to take my ticket.
He stopped and I smiled at him as I handed him my ticket. He punched the ticket and took a step away then slowly turned back toward me a big grin on his face. He put his arm on the back of the seat and leaned towards me.
I looked at him expectantly.
“You really like them?” he asked, pointing at something above me.
I turned around, then realized he was talking about my hat. It was a Dallas Cowboys hat. I touched the blue cap with the star on it and shook my head. “No. I just traveled there for some work and bought this hat.”
“Oh,” he said, smiling and nodding. “’Cause, you know, this is Giants territory.”
“Of course,” I said.
He asked me about my work and we talked football for a few minutes – typical guy talk – then he moved on.
I tried to picture a subway conductor passing me by, while I was nodding on my commute home, riding my beloved F, stopping and asking me the same question while he was going to check on a defective door that was stuck on some poor straphanger’s thumb, or coat, or canvas bag. Could that ever happen?
Nope. Not a chance. Not a chance.
–Joe Lunievicz
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