I tend to listen in on conversations since, what else can you do when say, you’re on the train or stuck in line. You’re trapped into listening. The good part is material…how often do I think…omigod, I couldn’t write this shit.
There was the tall glamour girl standing outside of my building talking to her West Highland terrier as if they were dating. I had stopped to tie my shoe.
“You know Sam, I really think we need more alone time…don’t you? Hanging out with Rick and Cubbie is nice, but I’d so much prefer to just be with you.” I look around and who comes to meet them but a fella and his chocolate lab I’m assuming was Cubbie. Despite what she said, she gave Rick a great big smooch while Sam idly scratched his balls. He knew he was the man.
Two middle-aged men are sitting across from me on the 6 train piped in stereo. They’re dressed like old rappers with enough gold around their necks to be held for ransom. One says, “I dunno how you can like her so much…she’s too fuckin skinny. I’d be scared I’d break her in half…them legs…skinnier than toothpicks.”
“No, them legs are sturdy, like a wrestler’s, and boy can she do it all night…on top even.” He starts to demonstrate by rocking back and forth. Alright, I think, let’s hear it for the skinny girl. I was hoping for more, but then they got off
“I hate Obama,” said a black woman on her cell while waiting for the ladies room at the Le Pain Quotidian at Union Square. “He says he cares…ya know…Obama cares? But can’t even get-em on the damn phone he cares so much.”
When she hung up I tapped her and said, “You know, I heard since it’s a twenty-four hour number, you’re better off calling after midnight.”
She swung around like a loose wrecking ball. “Midnight! Are you crazy? I need my sleep. And what are doin listenin to my conversation?”
“Sorry, just a suggestion,” I said, pointing to the john. “The bathroom’s free now.”
Then of course we have those dueling couples that belong in a ring, like the two that were fighting at Fiorello, a restaurant I like on the West Side. Seems they couldn’t decide on a movie.
“I’m not sitting through that,” said the woman, “all that noise and killing. How about Monument Men? I hear it’s really good.” (I so wanted to chime in, I did too)
“You just want to drool over George Clooney, and I’m sick’a him. He thinks he’s such a hot shot. Nope, I’m not giving him my money. Livin in Italy like America isn’t good enough for him.”
“Like you wouldn’t live in Italy if you had the money he had? Who you kidding George…I mean Vinnie.”
I watched Vinnie storm out of the restaurant like an Italian freight train. I guess he really doesn’t like George.