Noo Yawk, Noo Yawk

I look at its one occupant, who I at first think is a bag lady. In my stunned silence I realize it’s a transgender homeless man in winter clothing, wearing make-up ala Baby Jane, and is either knitting or crocheting something. We make eye contact and all reason has left me, I cannot avert my gaze. I hear these words coming out of my mouth, “How can you knit? It’s so hot!” To which he replies, “ … and I’m so supposed to be the crazy one!” He looks at me as if I’m on something while the doors open and I practically leap onto the platform to race into the next car.

My mind and heart are swirling as I sit down. I’m breathing stale subway car air as if it is elixir. I emerge from the subway safely at my home station still shaking my semi-sober head, thanking the creator I was not mugged or worse at 3am on a hot summer Noo Yawk night.