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August 23, 2009, 3:56 a.m.
N Train – Union Square to Union St.
A group of Hispanic 30-year-olds have dominated this late-night car. Five girls and one guy. My end of the car is empty, indeed. Other than one man whose reflection appears in the car window – he’s asleep, then yawns, then adjusts, then sleeps – no one is here.
The group sits staggered, one girl now alone on one side, abandoned by her friend who goes over to sit next to the lone male – a stocky 180 pounder with his hair pulled back into a orange-banded pony tail. She rubs his head, waking him up. They talk for a bit, then she wraps her arms around his torso. She does more wrapping, this time with her stiletto boot around his right leg, tucks her head into his shoulder, and places her hand as close to his crotch as one can in public without being arrested.
A man enters the car at one end wearing a black shirt with red lettering. He passes through without a word, opens the door on the other end, and proceeds to the next car.
The woman backs away from the crotch and says something to her friend across the way. She pulls out her camera.
“What do you want me to do?” the lone woman looks to her right for a prop, then up to the ceiling bar. “Grab on and swing?”
The crotch-attacker snaps a picture and hands it across.
“Oh no…oh….oh…it’s so awful.”
The swinger returns the favor, snapping a picture of the man and woman, and crotch. She hands it back across.
“That was not cute.”