The 6 train is my worst enemy.
The only thing that makes the disgusting cat calls, awkward eye contact diversion, and dance routines doable for my 2.5 hour commute each day is a set of earphones and a good read. Every once in a while, I look around the train and think…
I should probably acknowledge this person’s existence.
But just as that thought makes it’s way to my frontal lobe, someone tells me there’s a seat available on their lap, and my duty as a caring human seems to vanish.
I’m not trying to insinuate that I’m irresistible in New York, I’m just letting you know the men here are bold and they all appear to be fresh out of the pen.
At least the ones in Spanish Harlem.
Side Note: The maintenance man in my building calls me “mama” on a regular basis, and I’ve totally come to love him and his gross affection towards Mosie, which probably discounts my frustration with the aforementioned topic.
In an effort to keep my southern hospitality thriving, I keep my head buried in books and leave earphones in even if I don’t have anything playing through them. Keeping quiet isn’t really my style, but until I get a few dragons on my shoulder – I think it’s the safest way to travel.
My subway war strategy enables me to catch up on lots of good reads I missed out on while reading required junk in undergrad like Start Something That Matters.
Currently, I’m obsessed with B.J. Novak‘s collection of short stories, One More Thing. And while I’m sure this probably isn’t legal – I’m about to type out my new favorite short story by Novak.
(Please don’t send me to prison. I’m no Martha.) #thuglyfe
P.S. There is a perk in not knowing anyone in the city – it’s that when I start tearing up from a cheesing short story, no one can judge me. I mean, they can judge me, but I will never have to see them again… so it doesn’t really give it much credit.
They Kept Driving Faster and Outran the Rain (by B.J. Novak)
He rented a brand-new, bright yellow Ford Mustang convertible for their seven-day honeymoon in Hawaii. It rained lightly all day, every day, for the first six days. It wasn’t what they were expecting, but it was beautiful, and they took walks in the mist around the hotel property and looked at the flowers.
“I love the fauna here at the hotel.”
“Wait, what’s fauna?”
“Plants, flowers, right?”
“Right, but ‘flora and fauna.’ Isn’t flora flowers?”
“Don’t know. Let’s look it up later.”
“K.”
“K.”
On the last day the rain cleared, and they decided to circle the island in the convertible. It was beautiful, but once they got up in the mountains it started to rain again.
“Should we put the roof up?”
“Okay. But we have to stop to put the roof up.”
“I don’t want to stop.”
“I don’t want to, either.”
Then they noticed that when they drove faster, the rain was deflected by the windshield and didn’t hit them. As it rained harder, they just drove faster.
When they came back they told their friends about the drive they took on their last day and how it ended up being the best day of their whole trip.
Their friends insisted that rain didn’t work that way – it must have been hitting them. All of them agreed. One friend, who taught physics at a university, was particularly insistent. He even drew a diagram and wouldn’t let them change the subject until they promised and swore that they understood, which they finally did.
But no matter what their friends told them, they would always know what really happened. They just kept driving faster, and outran the rain.
[ Cap cries ] [Stranger stares]
Southern Wild 