I’m standing, waiting for the light on 86th and Lexington.
To my left, is a teenage Latino kid, to my right, a 7 year-old or so, Asian boy.
The older one, smoking like a chimney, a tattoo of Tupac across the back of his neck, motions to the younger one to get back up on the curb. “It’s dangerous man,” he says, as the kid wisely listens.
How lovely was that. I’ve said this before, how well brought up Latinos are. I see it often on the train, how they’ll give their seat to the elderly even after working all night, while the rest of humanity couldn’t care less.
The young one, an obvious, upper eastsider who in my opinion should not have been alone, toting a backpack almost as big as he is, was clearly taught to adhere to his elders.
I thought of the beauty in this, as the light changed.