As he pulled the door open and felt the cold air first hit his now warmed skin, Peter watched the dogs tear out of the building, as each would make his or her own exit, streams of steaming breath flowed from their gaping mouths. Invigorated now by the cold air, the dogs pulled poor John harder than ever. He was out the door in a heartbeat and halfway to second ave.
Peter let the heavy glass door slowly swing back to place as he sauntered out into the brightening morning . Living on the east side of the city was definitely a benefit, Peter thought as he began noticing the beautiful sunrise; which he did every morning provided he wasn’t too hung over or if it was going to rain.
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“Me thinkith I shall taketh the sturdy iron horse this here fine morning.” Peter said this aloud while crossing the street with an Asian lady and her baby.
Peter took a glance at his watch before slipping on his cashmere lined leather gloves. 6:08, he had to pick up the pace if he were going to catch the #6 train to 14th street. He knew there was one at thirteen after. There was a really cute Spanish girl on that train; the last car from the back. Peter thought she might be Puerto Rican but he really didn’t have a clue. He’d seen her six times in the last three weeks. Peter loved synchronicity.
He never spoke to her, just sat close enough to catch a whiff of her. She always smelled like roses. Peter never knew himself to be partial to the smell of roses but on this girl it was wonderful. He saw the way she would look at him, always trying to appear as if she were just perusing the always nearly-empty train car.
At that time in the morning only the blue collar workers, the all niters, and the freaks rode the trains. The suits didn’t show up for another hour or so. As he would sit across from her he would devour her with his eyes, he was safe behind the cover of his ever-present sun glasses.
As he sat there thinking up sordid and sexual scenarios, becoming aroused by the rhythmic ride provided by the train, making sure his object of affection was none the wiser. He would sometimes catch himself thinking, “is this normal behavior? Do all men sit across from women and think-up sex stories. Does this happen to Fiona all day long? Was he a mental deviant?” Then poof. The bell would ring and the car would come to a stop.
Peter only took the train one stop to 14th from 23rd. All this mental and sexual energy was generated in less time than it took to drink a cup of coffee. Peter had actually noticed this one morning.
Peter had walked the two blocks in three minutes, he had two minutes to catch the 6:13 train. He turned in to the staircase of the train station on the north east corner of 23rd and Park, flew down the long narrow flight o’stairs, jumping over what appeared to be a family of bums, (but who knew if they were related), and stepped up to the turnstile.
Almost instinctually, (for Fiona had told Peter that, ‘that is what separates us from the lower animals, that we don’t follow our instincts’) he unzipped and reached into the left inside pocket of his heavy black leather and pulled out his card holder. He took off his right glove and proceeded to remove his metro card. Peter slid his car through the required slot and proceeded to slam his thigh against the steel arm of the turnstile. There was a loud bang and Peter now had a searing pain in his right quadriceps.
“What the fu@k!” Peter bellowed as he rubbed his leg and looked down into the small liquid crystal display “zero balance.” He couldn’t believe it; he had two minutes and now this.
Peter turned to see the token booth attendant watching him. He hurried out of the turnstile entrance, trotted over to the enclosure, and slapped down his trusty metro card as he pulled a wrinkled ten spot out of the front pocket of his worn five o’ones.
The token attendant gave him a broad smile and took his money. She was a rather round dark brown woman and wore her hair in braids made up of two shades of pink, or was in burgundy. Her red rouge shone off of her beautiful brown skin almost as brightly as her lipstick off of her big red lips. Peter liked that she had a gold tooth, maybe two, it was a quick smile.
The size of her breasts immediately aroused Peter; the way they swelled up over her too-tight bra and out over her much-too-tight transit employees shirt. He imagined how much tension the thread holding her button onto her shirt must be under, possibly creating a sound only dogs can hear.
Peter wanted another look at those teeth. “Why do they call this place a token booth when you come here to charge up your metro card?”
The round brown woman lit up at the sound of Peter’s deep voice. She slid his card back to him and gave him a great big grin. He was right– two gold teeth. “You have a nice day, you sweet ‘ting.” She said in a melodic island accent. He flashed her his own toothy grin; Peter had perfect white teeth and loved to show them off when ever he got the chance.
He read her name which was emblazoned on her shirt, took another look at her incredible melons, winced at the sight of the straining button and said in a deep even tone, “Now you try to stay warm in their Helen. Have a nice day.”
He heard the #6 train rumbling into the station. As he turned to go through the turnstile once again, he witnessed something he couldn’t believe. The [alleged] family of sleeping bums had obviously heard the train too, for they were now in one cumulative effort trying to pull two huge piles, of what to Peter appeared to be junk, through the arms of the turnstile. There were four, maybe five of them. The smell was awful.
Peter silently stood as the 6:13 pulled into the station. The bell rang the doors slid open, the bell signaled again and they shut. The train proceeded out of the station heading south, final destination some place in Queens, all the time carrying his rose-scented girl. From his vantage point Peter was not able to see the second to last car but he waited, there was nothing else to doing. The train picked up speed and the long line of cars made their way out of the station.
There she was. He knew it, he saw her whiz by. Sitting just where he knew she would, far side, second to last seat all the way in the back. That seat was a two-seater, one was usually guaranteed to sit alone in that seat at that time in the morning.
