Thursday

On the ride home a rather disheveled Chinese lady boards at East Broadway with a baby in a stroller and a toddler stumbling around in her orbit, somewhat confused but completely unconcerned by the rocking of the train. A seat opens up almost immediately and his mother steers him in its direction with a noncommital palm on the top of his head as she struggles to one-hand the stroller and with the sudden proliferation of feet. He reaches the seat successfully without remotely loosening his death-grip on a large zip-lick bag packed to the gills with candy. He can't quite hoist himself up onto the seat by squirming alone, with his hands so preoccupied. A very old frail woman sitting in the next seat springs into action, expertly gathering his waist to her body behind his back and perfectly placing him down. She pats his shoulder and beams contentedly as his little feet dangle far from the floor. He's obviously distracted by his most precious cargo, and she notices. "What you got there? Candy?" He snaps fully to attention, twisting his entire small body to put it between her and the bag, and eyes her suspiciously. Yet she persists. "Can I have some?" His wide-eyed defenses clearly breached, he does what any toddler would do, and cries, loudly.