Preparing for the day

I've been thinking about New York City recently -- what I like about it, what I don't.  I moved here because it's where the entertainment industry is, but if I could live anywhere in the world, I think I'd live in a coastal town where I can smell the fresh breeze and the leaves and where I hear seagulls and waves rather than delivery trucks and car horns.  I hate crowds and I hate loud noises, to the point that I always have earplugs in my purse, and when I'm in a crowd I can't escape, I have to internally retreat in my mind and try to block out my surroundings.  This doesn't make New York City an ideal fit for me.  But at the same time, I recognize that all those people give me ideas about which to write, inspire thought and creativity, and give me a better understanding of the vast variety of human quirks and personalities that exist in the world.  I can get story ideas while just waiting for my train at Penn Station or walking down the street, watching people and imagining their conversations and motivations.  No place else could I get such a variety of characters in such a concentrated space.

And perhaps no place is better for people watching and listening than the New York City subway system.  I was reminded of this today while riding the subway to work.  This morning on the subway train, a woman and a man sat down next to me.  The man was thin, wearing a jacket too thick for the day's temperature and sporting a short, unkempt beard.  His female companion's hair looked like she'd either loaded it with mousse as she blow-dried it to within an inch of its life or she hadn't touched it in days.  Tattoos adorned her arms, fake nails were carefully pressed in place on her fingertips, and a giant faux-leather purse rested on her lap, the thin leather-like covering broken over the underlying fabric in many places as the purse's contents stretched it to its maximum space potential.

The couple settled into their seats, and without saying a word, the woman opened her purse, took out a package, and carefully removed a brand new electric razor from its plastic box, opening the packaging with a tool so that she was careful not to rip the plastic.  She silently handed the razor to the man, who proceeded to shave himself on the train.  The buzzing hum of the razor was the only human-generated sound in a car filled with people still waiting for their caffeine to kick in, and heads immediately started twitching, looking for the source of the sound.  Soon everyone was staring, some people were laughing, some were shaking their heads, some were muttering....   The couple didn't care.  Subway grooming was apparently just business as usual to them.  Eventually, the woman took the razor from the man and started shaving his neck for him.  When she finally finished, satisfied that her companion was sufficiently groomed and presentable for whatever the day held in store, she re-opened the plastic package from which the razor had come, fit the razor neatly back in just the way it had been, pressed the edges of the packaging together to seal it back up, got the receipt out of her purse, and put the package with the razor in a plastic bag.

"I'll return it this afternoon," she told the man.

Then she took out a bottle of pills, popped a few, and told the man to hold out his hand, into which she sprinkled a few pills, which he immediately took.

Before long, both of them were leaning at strange angles, eyes mostly closed, mouths hanging open, comfortably vacant.

But at least he had a good shave.