Stranger Observations

Postcards brighten anyone's day. I think instead of thank you notes, my creative peeps should send out more interesting things. Like postcards, thank yous in the form of a comic, a flat piece of wood with your note carved into it. I think ill send more thank you "cards" from now on and use them to think outside the box...or card.

My wonderful day Started with this postcard: 

 Best stranger observation on the train last night:

I enter the train on a 75 degree summer evening, about 8:45pm after an unsuccessful trip looking for white duck feathers to finish Brian and I's bedroom light installation piece (it's completion will mark a big house warming party, you're all invited).

All the seats are taken. I hate it when I'm in uncomfortable shoes and I run in like a desperate squirrel looking for a nut into the train to hijack a cold plastic seat and somehow some lady who takes up two seats plops down like she teleported from no where. Sucks.

I stand over this lady who is smiling at me. she is holding a fresh picked single lilac branch. Her hair is brown, wavy, and down past her shoulders. Her early 50's is a fresh maturity, no makeup, rainbow rain boots, long brown skirt, and a bulky sweater cardigan over a tan button up shirt. Every-time I look at her she smiles back very sweetly. Strange, not many people smile at you when you look at them in the city. They turn away as if caught grabbing a cooking from a cookie jar. Or hit on you. I loved her rain boots. 

Sitting beside her is a much older man, 65 maybe. Beard. Give's Skip Battaglia's beard a run for his money. I mean this beard is man torque salt-and-peperfied glorious. I want to pet it.

His face is worn with age. Deep long bags under his eyes, skin spots form sun exposure. Probably from a war. He's a vet, wearing a veterans hat with his sectors pins on it. The pins are rusted from weather and the hat is faded on the edges from wear. He probably wears it everyday.

He is wearing an organic tan hemp type button up with slouchy olive green pants. rolled up at the ends above his doc martins. His docs are barley the color they once were, and the sole is peeling away form the shoe. Pretty impressive for docs as they are hard to break.

On his shoulder is a knitted sac. Looks indian. bright threads are woven into it, reds, greens, yellows, white.

In his hands are a bunch of lilacs delicately wrapped in a few pages of newspaper. 

He makes no connection with the lady beside him. He gets up and leaves at my stop in brooklyn, the lady doesn't acknowledge his exit. As I move behind him awaiting the subway to open I get a pungent wave of BO and curry emitting from him.

He hobbles slowly up the steps with stiff legs, cradling the lilacs the entire way up the stairs.

I never got to cradle his beard. I bet its magical.