* On the 5:27 heading out of Gotham last night. Cattycorner to me in a six-seater is a traveler–woman of about 50, kinky brown Mrs. Roper-From-Three’s-Company hair, green t-shirt with an elephant and ‘Spirit of India’ on the front, ugly green suitcase between her legs. She’s wide open, taking-it-all-in eyes, and a big smile, like she’s enjoying every aspect of this trip.
She’s sharing the six-seater with what looks like her daughter–20, grungy, not quite as excited as Mom.
Conductor comes by, cheap cologne announcing his arrival a few seconds before.
He takes Mrs. Roper’s ticket, then ventures on to the next row, the next row.
Mrs. Roper mumbles some foreign version of “excuse me.” Conductor turns around. Mrs. Roper wants her ticket stub back.
A seasoned commuter guy across the aisle says to her, “Souvenir?”
“Yes, souvenir,” she says with a big smile. “Souvenir.”
* I’m on the 8:43 this morning, feeling a bit guilty about occupying the aisle seat of an otherwise empty three-seater. A woman and her young son, around Little G’s age, gets on at White Plains. We make eye contact and I offer the two seats to my left.
“Sure!” she says.
Just like Little G, the boy, about 4, finds looking out the window better viewing than even Dinosaur Train and Cars. (Speaking of Cars, he rocks the Lightning McQueen sneakers.)
I take a break from the Times movie reviews (“Robin Hood” sounds lame, “Letters to Juliet” lamer, but “Best Worst Movie” might just work) and wonder about them for a second. Mom taking the boy to work for the day, or maybe Dad’s gonna call it a half-day and meet Mom and Boy for the circus, FAO Schwarz, the Brooklyn Acquarium?
Boy still stares out the window, Ritz Carlton twins glimmering in the distance.
“Bye bye, Dad’s apartment!” he says with a small wave.
* 9 a.m. arrival at GCT from Stamford this morning, our New Haven Line correspondent ConnecticEnergy sees a man sleeping across a three-seat bench on a jammed train.
A man approaches, stares, and mutters, “Business Class gets everything.”