Everything Old is Old Already
In the train, stopped at Union Square. The doors open and a wave of passengers bring the swift sound of a be-bop combo in from the platform. I look around to see if my fellow straphangers notice, but each one is otherwise engaged - in conversation, or a phone, or other music.
From my seat, a long inseam steps into view, clad in navy wool and held mid-belly by a pair of diamond-print suspenders. I look up at the owner and find, not surprisingly, an aloof face hidden by horn rims and a high-and-tight.
The doors close, and I hear a sucking sound as the frantic jazz band is overrun, at last, by chatter. I take another peek at the Arrow Collar ad before me - lost in the reverie of his iPhone 4, he doesn’t miss the music.
