Welcome back, after the weekend. Some good things coming up this week, just you wait and see.
August 20, 6:32 p.m.
B Train – 42nd Street to 7th Avenue
A man boards the train at 42nd Street and is, to use an apt phrase, sweating balls. His starched white shirt is unbuttoned all the way, and right now he’s folding his blue and gold regimental tie – once, twice. His hair looks to have been freshly washed in a vat of grease and a grape-sized bead of water barely holds onto his chin. He unzips a small blue gym bag on the floor (the strap says Morgan Stanley) and tosses the tie inside.
He quickly grabs as seat as they open up at 34th Street. He discards his suit jacket in a heap on the seat next to him, and stacks today’s New York Times on his heat-trapping black slacks. He stands at West 4th, thinking it’s his stop, but only looks around in heat-induced confusion before sitting back down. He probably envies the man in the European soccer jersey and gym shorts, or perhaps the job that allows another rider to wear a golf shirt and light khakis. At the next stop he picks up his bag – the one that reads Morgan Stanley – and wearily departs the air conditioned train.