I hadn’t seen her in years. I waited there, impatient and anxious, palms sweating, and my armpits warm. I thought I had read the weather correctly that morning. It was supposed to be cold that day, and I had heard Manhattan would be worse.
Underground was so humid. My arm was sticking to my torso underneath my jacket and i couldn’t wait to be engulfed by the discomfort of a subway seat. There was only the sliver of hope that that the B train would be air-conditioned. The man next to me was sitting on the bench singing a wretched tune that made my ears hurt. He looked homeless and I was the only fool who had elected to remain near his awful smell. I always thought it was a myth or a joke that homeless people stayed near the subway system for the warmth. It was the same warmth that made me uncomfortable coupled with anticipation to see my longtime friend. The white whiskers on the man’s face trembled as he continued screeching.