Christmas Shopping Part

This year, She and I have decided to downscale Christmas gifts for each other, steering away from larger and more expensive items towards smaller things...our relative economies just can't take it, and we've run of out ready cash several times this past year, although for me, the freelance worker, December has meant some windfall earnings. Her salaried income remains constant.
And so, last week, armed with a fistful of twenties, I went out to make several stops in the West Village. My first stop was a soap shop, to buy a fresh cut cake of soap that she likes. The cost was ballpark $8, and I handed the clerk a twenty. I knew it was a twenty because I need that I had no tens available to feed the Metrocard machine. She handed me back two dollars, and when I told her that I had given her a twenty, she replied that I had not, as she had punched in ten dollars as tendered in her cash register. It's one of the older scams going, usually run by cab drivers when they think someone isn't paying attention or is from out of town. I wound up with the ten bucks, but it sure left a bad taste in my mouth.

Next stop was a designer salt and chocolate store---only in New York do we have such things, and in such abundance. Next year, She and I will pass a major milestone, and we're celebrating with a trip to Sicily, and I thought that a small jar of Sicilian salt might be a nice present. The store was chilly, and the clerk wrapped herself in a heavy woolen shawl, holding it closed with one hand. I picked out the right salt, took it up to her at the cash register, and watched as she let go of the shawl. It flopped open to show a nice scoop neck blouse, sagging slightly in the front to reveal wonderful cleavage, with a delightfully ornate chocolate brown bra, ornate lace separating and propping up her breasts. She looked down at her own cleavage, and quickly realized that she was perhaps showing more than she wanted to, and so she made a fruitless attempt to push the top back on her shoulders before giving up, realizing that the only solution was to hold the shawl closed with one hand and complete the transaction with the other, smiling a bit sheepishly as she handed me back my change.

Still Waiting

The day laborers all congregate across the road from the 7 Eleven, patiently waiting for someone to drive past and hire them for a days labor. They're all bundled in heavy hoodies, whatever warm clothing they own, those that own their own tools holding the poles or sticks or belts. One or two periodically duck into the 7 Eleven for a coffee. The Little Girl asks what they're waiting for, and I reply that they're waiting for work, waiting for someone to hire them for a day's labor. As we swing back in the late afternoon, some of the men are still waiting, and the Little Girl looks up at me---"they're still waiting," she says in a sad and mildly mournful voice, understanding that they've waited the whole day for naught, have made no money, and she understands that they will return the next day and wait again.

The Girls

Like everyone else waiting for the subway on a Saturday morning, I occupied myself by checking my blackberry, reading, staring into space while maintaining that blank look, sneaking furtive glances at my fellow passengers. It was then that I first noticed her, seeing her from the back, her blonde hair cascading over her collar and down the back of her winter jacket. She stood close to the edge of the platform, accompanied by another woman with long jet black hair, holding her hand. The brunette stepped in front of the blonde, and kissed her, first gently and then a longer kiss, her lips milking the blonde's lips into her mouth. I could see her tongue thrusting into the blonde's mouth as they kissed, arms down and by their sides. The brunette opened her eyes and caught me watching. She attacked her partner's mouth yet again, her eyes defiantly locked on mine, trapping me in the posture of the watcher, doing what I always get off on, watching.
The train came and they boarded the car in front of mine as I continued to watch through the car door. The blonde sat and her partner stood in front of her, bending at the waist to talk into her ear

This One's for New Yorkers Only

Can anyone explain to me when and why it became cool and fashionable to stand in the subway doors as they open, blocking egress, turning sideways to allow a minimal amount of passengers to get on and off? We were taught to step out of the way, either by moving further into the subway car or by briefly stepping off and then re-entering after the exiting passengers left the car doors. But now it seems de rigeur to stand in the way, back against the door, turning sideways to allow others to slither out.
Definitely not cool.