Blog About Photography

Her hair is up, tied up some­how, I can’t really describe it, but it’s like a lit­tle girl’s might be. It’s this kind of muddy, inde­ci­sive shade of brown. White wires come down from the ear­buds she’s got in her ears, her head bobs, her body sways back and forth, lightly, com­pletely asyn­chro­nously with the rhythem­less flute music drift­ing across the sub­way plat­form. Her coat is white even though it’s the first day of fall and she has a scarf tossed around her neck, its white and black and fuzzy, like TV sta­tic. She looks down at her feet, her toes pointed inward and maybe wrig­gling a bit in her black on black can­vass shoes.

Another time I fell in love on the sub­way, I was com­ing up out of the sta­tion in a part of town I only visit when I need to buy some­thing for the apart­ment. A girl was walk­ing ahead of me, there was a cer­tain some­thing to her stride, and again those black can­vass shoes. It was still warm then, or I should say, much warmer than it is now, and her skin shim­mered slightly. On the street we went dif­fer­ent direc­tions. I turned around to watch her round the cor­ner. How pleas­ant that she’d done the same.

Back on the plat­form, the girl in the white coat she steps for­ward, peer­ing down the track, check­ing for the train. It’s com­ing, and then it arrives. I loose sight of her. I write about her from memory.

Posted on Monday, October 22nd, 2007 at 1:07 am