As trips home from manhattan on the Bronx-bound 2 train at 930 at night go, this was typical.
I enter at 34th street 7th avenue and pass by a fat black man sitting on the south west corner staring into space. He is naked from the waist down and morbidly obese. A cursory look would indicate that he is having a spiritual moment, but, as a native New Yorker, I know better. This man is insane and he will explode at the slightest provocation. A blond-haired woman is staring at him, but wisely refrains from snapping a picture of him. She wants to do it and have a good laugh with her friends at his expense, but is keenly aware that doing so would be a huge risk.
Going down the escalator I see a group of Central Americans ten feet ahead. One of them is receiving directions from a woman dressed in a police uniform who looks more like a pastry chef than a law enforcement agent. One of them thanks her in broken English and they proceed in a very deliberate way. Two of the immigrants are young women pushing baby coaches that looked like they were purchased at a high-end store. The babies are mere months old. That is all the information I needed to assess the situation. These were illegal aliens. I’m sure that they are fine people, but it is highly unlikely they possess any marketable skills that would make them an asset to this country. More bluntly, they are leeches who the American taxpayer will be forced to support.
The 2 train is crowded but the atmosphere is calm and cheerful. But not for long. A skinny women with a rubberized stomach suddenly enters the car. She gives a fervent speech that lasts for ten minutes-all gibberish. As she leaves everybody present breathes a sigh of relief. A minute goes by and the hag returns and announces that “I am back”. Everybody groans in unison, but she isn’t fazed. After ten more minutes of convincing everybody present that she has lost the battle with her personal demons she genuflects and retreats into the subterranean metropolis.
Shortly thereafter a man selling orchids enters the subway car. He is a crude street type but a good salesman. He quickly sells out and is gone. A man dressed as and assuming the manner of a woman then enters. He poses in front of the door, as if waiting to be congratulated for his strenuous effort to defy nature, to wage war against common sense. It is difficult for me to contain my hatred of people like this. So I look away from him with the hope that he soon disappears . Fortunately the degenerate leaves after a few stops.
These are snapshots that I take of NYC subway system every day, with a dose of consternation.
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