Train Tract Exchange

Woman, mid-twenties, five feet six inches, a hundred sixty pounds, shoulder length, curly blonde hair, red-orange lipstick, sad eyes, lots of black mascara. She sits alone, in the double seats on the right side of the train, facing the rest of us. I sense that she is about to call my attention, so I look up.

WOMAN: Do you have a cell phone I can use?

ME (blissfully unaware of any double entendre): Not one I could let you use for free.

WOMAN: Oh. Okay.

ME (continuing to employ absolutely no double entendre): I get screwed on my cell phone service.

WOMAN: Oh. Okay.

She turns away and stares out the window. Another woman sits down, across the aisle, in one of the three facing seats on the left side of the train, her back to the driver. She raises a cell phone to her ear, says something in Spanish. I wonder, once the Spanish call has been completed, will the blonde woman ask to use her cell phone? She never does.