On any given day, at any given time, you can see shocking things that would make your eyes burn and your head shake.
This morning was no different. I boarded the R train that goes from my house in Midtown to my job in Soho. It is a fairly quick trip, but even on the quickest of trips, you can catch a glimpse of a myriad of interesting things.
Today was probably the most shocking of all.
Across from me was a black man about my age. He was all ghettoed out, wearing baggy pants, a puffy ski parka, a Sean John sweater and a ski head pulled menacingly down on his eyes. He had chains around his neck and bright bling on his fingers and in his ears. He had a big bag on his lap and was shaking his head in time to the gangsta rap he was listening to that filtered into the rest of the car in staticked beeps.
He reached into his messenger bag and pulls out…. what I can’t quite see it…I squint my eyes to discern…it’s long and pointed…is it a knife?…is it a needle….
No, it’s a crocheting needle. He promptly pulls out a half-made green sock and continues on looping and connecting, his hands working wildly. There he sat from 42nd St., to Prince, pulling bright green wool from it’s skein and jabbing his number 7 crochet tool in and out, crocheting his little heart out.