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Portrait of a G Train Rider
After having dinner this evening at Los Primos (on Grand Street) I decided to walk over to the Metropolitan Avenue stop of the G and start my trek home.
Jesus H. Christ!
My husband said. For some reason waiting a fucking eternity for the B43 bus to arrive makes more sense to him than spending an extra five or ten minutes walking to the subway. I told him I had my own set of keys and he was welcome to take the bus. I wasn’t. And in hindsight I damned glad I didn’t because…
the Baby Lama was waiting for me on the Queens-bound platform when I got to the station. At one point he started dancing and I followed suit halfway down the platform. It was the most fun I have had waiting for the G train in a very long time.
When the train arrived he got on. At Greenpoint Avenue, he got off. It makes me proud to have had the honor of sharing a subway ride with this man, much less to have him as a neighbor.
Miss Heather
P.S.: When I got home there was a smallish, balding man pacing in front of my building. To no one in particular he shouted:
Rene, your husband is fucking my wife!
God I love Greenpoint!
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