Little Bill

Yesterday: 9:45am.

It was a brief moment, and the day continued…

I was walking up Broadway towards the Flatiron Building on my way to work. New shoes on my feet. Brown leather. Flat soles. No tread. I’m walking across the subway grates — for those who aren’t that familiar with NYC, there are vents from the subway up to the street. From the sidewalk they are metal grates.

A few blocks along my way I make eye contact with a woman about fifteen feet in front of me. Ten feet from me my shoes slip on the grate. Not even close to falling, but I recover gracefully. Our eyes lock. My eyebrows raise, she smiles. Mutual acknowledgment.

We keep walking.

It proves, in the span of ten seconds that — although we all wear masks along our subway rides, that we wear our sunglasses to avoid eye contact; to anonymize ourselves — a brief moment can bring forth the notion that we’re only human. That we can, in a brief instant, share a moment and the continue on our paths reminds me that underneath our facades, this city full of millions are really just people. With emotions and insecurities.

I connected with a stranger for all of two seconds, and it was wonderful.