train denizens

There is this gentleman that rides my train most mornings and I saw him again today. He makes his entrance on the F train at West 4th Street, in one of the last three cars at about 8:12 a.m. He then takes the train all the way up to my stop, West 57th Street, where we both depart. I have been determined to follow the fellow to see where he goes at about 8:23 in the morning on the west side of midtown, but have yet to do so for various factors (i.e. running late, pop in to the bank, stop at the Duane). The reason why my roommate and I have become besotted by him is his attire. He wears spiked-to-maim motorcycle boots; torn, acid-wash, well worn jeans; a black, voluminous cape; a submissive collar with an elephantine, fist-sized leash ring in the front and is always sans shirt. He has long, dark hair that he wears either tied back in a low ponytail or just simply lets it hang. When he exits the train, he removes his cape and prepares to light a cigarette. He also wears bookish glasses, similar to those of John List. He looks like all of the furniture in his apartment would be outfitted in Nacho Carbonell's Skin line:




Bangarang. I still cannot fathom where he is going on the west side of midtown that early in the a.m., dressed to submit. Mayhap an early morning stroll in the park.

It's martini night. Hunker down.