I stepped onto the wide door opening of the  train and grabbed a pole. ‘Straphangers’ they called us. I was a newbie with less than a year of wet feet. A woman, thin with long silky black hair, smooth-faced and clear and in a trench coat stepped on at 23rd street. She moved in close enough to
feel my breath. Being tall and black was usually a repellent but not for her. 33rd street and she inched closer to me. I flashed a glance to her every few seconds and watched her eyes to see if she gave me the same clothes-tearing desiring look I leaked from from brain to body.
I never knew what a subway ride would be like, what adventure it would be, delays, bums, queens and the lot of colorful people that earned the other cheek from the average drab-faced tired rider shouldering for a seat. I liked it, standing up and all. I held onto my heart and left feelings at home and chewed gum. Acclimated was an understatement within six months.
Where was I going? Not important to be honest. Where was anybody going?