maybe it's the tumult of repair work at the north end of the 2 train line that drove cops to abandon their rounds there lately. the strange man and i took it this afternoon all the way to nereid avenue. and school kid punks ran amok in the cars.
at gun hill station, we changed car to one nearest the conductor. a smattering of unruly kids still held court there. at the end of the car, a solitary boy, unmindful of the din, scratched the graffiti-proof glass pane with a pen knife. he wasn't done yet, but we recognized what he was about to finish etching. i love you babe.
i glanced sideways to find the strange man smiling at me. his smile, almost like a grimace. from embarrassment. of a shared knowledge, perhaps. "something wrong?" i asked. "nothing," he said.
tomorrow, will the boy's girlfriend, on her way to school, recognize his handwriting? would she faint in delight? or would she just blush and say nothing. and just keep all this knowledge of someone celebrating her, loving her all to herself like a precious earring too dear to wear to a knockabout schoolyard?
