9:45 pm on the N/R platform

The subway platform at 9:45 pm on a Tuesday holds men in suits with loosened ties and red faces and mouths ajar. Older men, men who feel they deserve a few drinks after work, who deserve to feel the pressure off their shoulders for a few hours. Other men, black men dressed shabbier, pushing their belongings in carts, like the luggage that flight attendants pull through the airport.

The people waiting for their trains at 9:45 pm on Tuesdays mostly stayed too long at happy hour.

The subway platform comes to a point at the end of the 14th Street station. I always gravitate toward the end of the line, the last car. The N train pulls in and a noisy group pours out. I see a redhead with curly long hair wearing a deep purple sweater that would look so good on me.

The third express train thunders into the station without a local in sight. 9:50--it feels like its been so much longer.