People watching is probably one major perk of living in this city. It happens to be one of my favorite past times. Honestly, I could sit anywhere for hours, okay 90 minutes - short attention span theater here - and just watch people fumble about their business. Of course, it's a lot more entertaining when there's a couple of pints involved - especially if it's the people I'm watching who was drinking them.
The best part about people watching is the potential writing "prompts" and I'd been missing it lately because it's hard to actually watch people when you have monkeys in tow. Having some solo adventures these past few days, I took the opportunity to watch situations unfold.
Maybe it was the calming endorphins after my morning hobble-run, but the scenes that I happened to be privy to were so gushingly romantic. Here are two.
"The Intimate Crash"
At the curb of Queens Boulevard and 46th street, I watched a young man preparing to sprint across the first opening of oncoming traffic. He was smart-looking in his super white button down and slacks, probably a weekend soccer player. He was absorbed in dodging traffic, bobbing back and forth on his toes when an opening appeared to cut across.
He dashed across the five lanes and jumped onto the sidewalk to bound up the stairs. At the same time, a woman about the same age as him was nonchalantly coming down. She had headphones on and was holding an iced coffee - he nearly crashed into her would've toppled her over, but his athletic dexterity stopped himself by grabbing hold of her hips.
Their faces were millimeters apart - if he were Owen Wilson and she were Rachel McAdams, they might've kissed.
He apologized like a mad man (hands still on her hips). She giggled and her nodding assured him she was okay, he raced up the stairs. She calmly waited for the light to change and all the while, she had a huge grin on her face which was was a shade brighter than crimson.
The 7 train into Queens at four o'clock is already crowded. The passengers are mostly construction workers who probably get off at 3:30 and odd jobbers, like dancers. A beautiful African American woman squeezed in a seat next to a burly Hispanic construction worker. She pulled out her headphones and started an enclosed dancing moving only her bare shoulders and hips in her seat. It was amazing how she didn't touch or disturb the people next to her.
As the air conditioning kicked in during the long ride under the tunnel, she decided to put on her sweater. Deftly, she scooted herself to the edge of the seat - so not to elbow her fellow riders - and with her eyes fixed to the ceiling, she attempted to slip into her sweater. She didn't realize, the sleeve was twisted around the back.
Gently, burly construction guy tried to unravel the apparel - his meaty hands covered in dried white plaster - a stark contrast against the delicate black lace. It took her a few seconds before she noticed his courtesy and she stopped to notice him.
He gave her a warm smile. Then he straightened her sleeve as she slid her arm into it with the fluid flexibility of a contortionist. She scooted back into her seat and resumed her enclosed dance that was probably tickling him now.
Unfortunately, my stop was next. But I'd like to think that there is another "chance" meeting in their future because there was definitely some chemistry there and it's way more appealing than any episode of "The Bachelorette."
Call me a hopeless romantic - and I admit it's true...as long as it's somebody else's heart.