Notes from underground
It’s surprising how often I run into people hauling double basses around the subway. Two just on the way home from the Met last night. What are the odds? I’m wishing the census covers this kind of demographic. There’s something incredibly badass about a bass on the subway.
And on the same trip, I got to say “Follow the nun!” because there she was, in her blue and white habit, walking down Park Avenue. Follow the nun. It’s a good phrase to keep in your pocket until someday you need it.
On the train this morning, a young man in an army green jacket reads a serious book, his lips moving slowly with the words.
On 35th Street, a tiny, elderly woman croaks into her phone in a voice so scratchy and low that it is a stereotype of a stereotype of a shopworn agent. She was probably a tenor in her 40s, a baritone by 50. She’s now well on her way to an impressive basso profundo.