I met a man on the subway.
Ok, well not actually ON the subway but outside of the 53rd and Lex stop. I was going home from acting class at the Neighborhood Playhouse (yay me) and a young man in a thick Brooklyn accent asks me how to get to the F. I begin to stammer that you can't get to the F at this station, and you'll have to take the E or V but they aren't running and if I was coherent, which I rarely am, I would have gone on to tell him to take the 6 downtown to Bleecker and there you are. But I was also thinking in my neurotic (which only really means I'm muddled up, thinking from all angles) brain, that I may give this guy directions and then we'll end up on the same train, and it will be awkward, plus he was kind of cute so, "Why dont you just come with me?" blurts out of my mouth.
So great. So much for my book, or listening to music or whatever I was going to do.
But then he turned out to be so interesting. He was really intelligent, honest and forthcoming about himself. We had an enjoyable conversation the entire ride, and that includes the transfer. A couple of times, I stepped outside myself and looked in from the outside and realized how far my life has taken me in six months.
Emma is on a train talking to a Brooklyn boy about life.
Yes. He asked for my number. Right after 15th St Station in Brooklyn. He knew mine was the next stop. He was getting off at Avenue I where I once woke up after having missed Fort Hamilton. One brilliant topic of conversation. I left out that it was three am and I drunk. He also went to rehab in Los Angeles. He has emotional ties there. I get that.
So I gave him my number.
Doubt it will go anywhere. The whole "rehab" thing and I'm really into wine. Also he's Jewish, so he told me, Brooklyn Jewish, and I'm definitely not. Kinda the end right there. But oh well. This is New York and who cares?
I had my first subway romance.
I fucking love this town.