guy smoking on the subway

A woman starts making eye contact with me on the uptown 2 this morning and for a second I'm impressed with myself. When I look back though she looks back at me again, less in an aren't-you-so-interesting-you-paunchy and unkempt-yet-sexy-creature-you kind of way and more in that way people have of looking at you when someone's doing something crazy on the subway.

There's a sudden distinct smell of smoke. I look back at my sister in travel like sister is that a we're-all-going-to-die kind of look you've been shooting me, but she's given up on my Goofus reflex time and has opted to ignore the entire car for the rest of the ride, possibly to ignore all train passengers for the rest of her life, possibly to ignore all humankind and live out her days a Nicorette hermit in some remote corner of the globe, e.g. Jersey City more than 4 blocks from the PATH.

In uncertain and toddling/obesely wheezing fashion I get off my mental ass and note the source of the stimulus in question, a guy smoking a large off-brand cigarette on the subway, strong like a clove but less sweet, a cigarette strong with a certain air of off-track betting and municipal court lobbies, a cigarette strong indeed and latent with a filtered premonition of will be jabbed swiftly and with great aim into the face sockets of errant objectors.

In short as the man in question smokes this portentous stick resplendent with martial energy the mental adjustment for his fellow passengers is simple: there's a guy smoking on the subway and isn't it the most natural thing.

Five minutes north I've completely adjusted, I've actually chosen to sit closer to the guy, the smell of smoke is helping me to concentrate on my book. Someone gets on at 125th and has the gall to complain, in what can only stand as a small betrayal.