Tuesday

Wait a minute - what's going on? I look down at my hand, at the journal on my lap. I'm OK. The other passengers, they're OK, well, relatively speaking. So then, this cartooney thing, the real life cartoon that just walked through the doors at Delancey - and holy shit, did it ever - is just an isolated incident. Thank god. It's still blocking the doors, but that's to be expected. Two sisters it is, hispanic, obese, really obese, one wearing sweatpants, the other teal-colored nurses' pants, both in those super-short down jackets with the faux-sexy faux-fur trim around the hood. One's a little taller than the other but they appear to be otherwise identical, although perhaps their features have been simply blurred by copious amounts of fast food. Obese. They share between them an iPod - again with the iPods - and they each have an earbud. This is hilarious in itself because these girls are real big, as I've said, and the cord is only so long, so they stand belly to belly, nose to chin, in the posture of a couple of overstuffed club shairs from Jennifer Convertibles. They must be listening together to some comedy routine becasue every couple seconds the laughter ensues, chuckling, jiggling, strained cheeks pulled back and extra chins forced rearward toward the ears and much heaving of shoulders in conflict with nonexistent necks. When one of them waddles off at 14th Street the earbud is passed back, the remaining cherub takes a seat or two, reggaeton takes over, and her floppy face suddenly turns to stone, just like everyone else's.