I’m standing on a packed train, coming home late, when I see a girl in her 20s with a gold safety pin sliced through her cheek making me wince, knowing it had to hurt going in.
Why anyone wants to pierce their face like a Masai warrior, is a mystery to me.
What’s also interesting is the rest of her, dressed like a milkmaid in a long, white ruffled skirt and pink blouse with tiny daisies dancing across it. She’s punk from the chin up, and vintage Ralph, down. I’m mesmerized by her eclectic style wondering absurd things like, does the pin come out when she showers…does she have to sleep on her back? I’ll bet it’s handy if a button pops.
At one point our eyes meet, inspiring me to smile, one not returned.
I’m self-conscious knowing I have no right staring, when suddenly, she’s in front of me. I can’t help myself by asking, now ironically standing cheek to cheek,
“You’re such a pretty girl, whatever made you do that?”
She gives me a faraway look as if she’s not quite of this world before saying, “I don’t know what you mean.”
Then the doors open, and she’s gone.
Just one more New York story.