Scene: A platform of the Times Square Metro Station, morning. I am standing near a pillar, reading a book on my Kindle as I wait for my train. A man comes down the stairs and looks my way.
Man: How're you doing?
Me: ...
I ignore him, assuming he's talking to another one of the passengers. A few moments later, he comes up to me.
Man: Excuse me, do you know if this train goes to 34th Street?
I look up from my book, then look at the giant subway map we are standing next to.
Me: Yes.
Man: Great. Thanks.
Me: No problem. I start to turn back to my book.
Man: Are you going to work?
Me: No, I have the day off.
Man: Nice. I'm just coming from work.
Me: Ah, a late shift?
Man: Yeah. So, what are you going to do with your day off?
Me: Oh, you know, a little shopping, maybe an art museum. You?
Man: That sounds good. I'm just goin' home, you know? Gonna relax.
Me: Sure. That can be nice, too.
A pause. I go back to my book.
Man: Leans against the pillar and looks over my shoulder. Are you reading a love story? He suggestively raises an eyebrow.
Me: Greek mythology.
Man: You read Greek, too? (His amazement is not for finding a fellow Classicist, but rather my apparently numerous observable remarkable qualities.)
Me: No, it's a translation.
Man: Still.... A pause. You got a husband?
Me: No.
We hear the sound of the train approaching.
Man: Then what I really want to know is, when am I going to get to see you again?
Me: Thanks, but... Rather than explaining the whole out-of-town-thing, I lie. I've got a boyfriend.
Man: Oh. Well, nice to meet you.
Me: You too.
We get on the train, but on different cars. I sit down. A young boy, perhaps 7 or 8, slides in next to me. His parents, sitting on the other side of the car, beckon to him and call in some Slavic language for him to come sit with them.
Slavic boy: Looks me over, shakes his head vehemently at his parents, then smiles slowly and winks at me.
End of Scene.
The Only Conclusion That Can Be Drawn: I am hot in New York.
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