New York, you’re buggin’ me out.
Oh man, I was taking the J train across the Williamsburg bridge this afternoon and made a new favorite subway memory. I sat next to a middle aged fellow in the car. He was a little off, but not in a threatening way—he struggled to sit and took long, labored breaths. I assumed he had some sort of physical health issues [Swine Flu joke TK] but was otherwise harmless. I took out my New York Magazine to finish Jesse Green’s excellent Dolly Parton profile. The gentleman, midway through a loud, gasping inhale, pulled a stack of about a dozen papers from a briefcase. I glanced over and the only thing on the top page was a black-and-white image of a woman, pointy and posed like a Talbot’s catalog model. It appeared to be a scanned image he had printed from a computer. He stared at it for a long time, maybe four minutes. What the hell was he doing? He couldn’t be studying it as a designer or photographer—it was of terrible resolution. Maybe he was getting off on the image of this woman?
Finally, he shuffled the papers and pulled another out from the middle of the stack and placed it on top. I looked over again and it was THE EXACT SAME IMAGE. Same woman, same photo, same shoddy print job. After two more minutes, he pulled out a THIRD COPY and placed that on top and stared at that one too. The whole stack seemed to just contain copies of the same image. I can’t even speculate. I have no fucking clue what happened on that train.
Things like this make me miss NYC in a deep, painful way. Here in SF, this same man would have made a very public and uncomfortable mess of those pictures involving urine, blood, semen, feces or some combination of the four…
Source: andrearosen
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make me miss NYC...deep, painful way. Here...man would have...
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