Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and rush hour. But today’s train could be called the “blue-collar express”. There are at least 5 hunky guys wearing the same NYC blue collar uniform: A baseball cap, dirty tight jeans that indivertibly enhance their muscular asses, construction boots and several layers of hooded jackets and sweats.
The seat in front of me has the perfect multi-racial sampling: It begins on the right with a young Mexican guy. His looks are very native-indian. He seems alone and very quiet, a bit scared. There is sadness on his face. Next to him is a blonde girl who looks like a ski bunny: white puffy ski jacket and long blond hair. Lots of makeup. She looks naughty. Her make-up is running a bit. She could easily be an escort coming home from an appointment. She is totally fascinated by the blue-collar men and tries very hard to make eye contact with them. Too bad her mascara is running and in spite of her best smile, she still looks like a washed-up hooker.

Next to her, a black woman with blonde highlights on her hair talks to another woman who is falling asleep, her eyes only opening when she hears the high-pitched horse-laugh of the first woman.
The young black guy with his box of yellow M&M’s steps in from the neighboring car. He begins his delivery on how this M&M’s are going to save some homeless, starving children or stray dogs; I really don’t pay attention, like everybody else. A skill we newyorkers seem to be born with. He leaves the train and nobody buys the salvation M&M’s.
I wonder if Mars Inc. knows that by putting an almond inside of a tiny little chocolate ball and covering them with bright colors they were going to be helping a social cause. It is so easy to save the homeless, children and stray dogs, just by buying a bag of some chocolates that I like anyway.
And yet, I don’t buy any. Nobody on the train does.

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