Started out the day with a home visit turned into a scenic outing, which was nice, but it saw me walking too much under the warm-to-hot sunshine. 3 hours later, I found myself drained like kelp. I curled up on the subway back home and slept.
People, don't set a goal to sleep on the subway. The subway is not your friend. And no, I'm not talking about the possibility of a friendly neighborhood rat nuzzling your chin (the subject of a YouTube film that I refuse to watch, let alone post here). Nor am I refering to the chance that someone will roll you and take your shit while you sleep. Too many pissed-off New Yorkers on any given train to allow that to happen, I'm sure. I honestly trust my fellow NY'ers. We've jumped on subway tracks to help people, dammit. We're good people.
BUT!! I can count on only one hand the amount of times I've rode a train WITHOUT someone coming through the car blaring at the top of their lungs that they're "Sorry to bother you ladies and gentlemen and I do apologize for the inconvenience but..." to which they go on to tell of their misfortune. Or they proceed to play music I wouldn't buy myself for a $0.99 download, then charge us all for the performance. Or they'll dance and flip and clap and bang the car ceiling, turning the subway into the circus. Or they'll want to sell me stolen Welch's Fruit Snacks (where the hell else did they get them from?). Every time I try to catch a wink on the train, I leave angrier than I was when I got on. It's a problem.
However, yesterday the trip home was one of those exceptions. Saturday afternoon around 1 seems to be a buffered zone. Perhaps the homeless, hungry, street-dancing people of New York are on their lunchbreaks. But the nap was such that I was able to get home, cook me some lunchtime food, lie down for another respite then feel revived enough to GO BACK OUT ON THE TOWN BEFORE THE SUN WENT DOWN!
It was no big deal, really. I went to the high-profile candy store at 60th and 3rd Avenue for a sweet fix and ate substandard ice cream. I should've had ColdStone.
But leaving there, I took the Lexington Avenue line downtown in a protracted "I want to be out on the town" mood, and was overtly flirted with by a dude with a nice tan and golden body hair. I couldn't help stare at the hue of his legs. He looked like a benign tiger with no stripes. He was a little fidgety to begin with, which is how I noticed him (I can catch sight of a fly moving across a subway platform, trust me. I'm kind of hypervigilant that way. It's not always fun). Then our eyes met. He fussed with his arms, (the same light-bronze color as his legs, covered in soft golden down) and then took some either real or imagined long hair off his skin that a woman must have left. Being as I had someone next to me applying her makeup, this made me laugh. We exchanged a "I know right? These WOMEN" look. Then he kept trying to lock my eyes again.
At that point, I was out of the race. He really wanted something from me and I knew I wouldn't be delivering, so I kept turning my eyes away. That was quite the experience. Been a long time since I was the object of someone's lust like that. (Unles Faux Leonardo yesterday at the gym was giving it a try). But I knew that until I come out of the closet and reconcile the complete me with the world, I'm not going to be confident enough, or man enough, to treat an interested dude right.
So I let him go.