Soured

This morning I rode the PATH train into the city with glee. A specimen of a man stood across the aisle from where I sat. He stood despite the fact that there were plenty of seats.

His back was to me, which was just fine because what a view it was. He had broad shoulders. Nice legs. He was dressed in khaki shorts and a crisp white polo shirt. White sneakers. I studied every sinew, every move he made for the 10-minute ride.

When we pulled into the World Trade Center station, he dropped a crumbled paper towel on the floor of the train. He tried to be slick about it. The train was spotless otherwise.

Damn.