The Human Parts Open Thread: Letter to a Stranger
Human Parts

Yesterday, like most days, I saw you twice: once on my way to work and again on the way back. Always at Delancey-Essex. If you haven’t noticed, we share the exact same stops and schedule, nothing short of a New York miracle. (As such we also share the same area of the platforms.) One of these days, one of us will talk.

It is not uncommon to form rituals with strangers — but you and I have a look, a product of time reserved just for taking in impressions. I have by now garnered all sorts of ideas: you as well-read and liberal; as sharing a Bushwick one-bedroom with your boyfriend, or girlfriend (I haven’t decided which); as spending your Friday nights indoors deliberately, quietly.

Once you frightened me by disappearing for several months. I stopped expecting you. I thought surely that you had moved — out of the city, within it — until one day, as if nothing had changed, you came back. And looked.

Anyway, I am moving soon. I like to think that, if I come back, you’ll still be there, twice a day, waiting. Or maybe looking with someone else. Maybe talking.

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