“Tamayo said to me. “Goony Goomey,” I said, nodding. “That’s the significance of the cootie catcher. We were both cootie girls. We had cooties.” “What are cooties?” “Fleas, lice.” The subway platforms below the Port Authority, a major transfer point, were jammed with people, by my estimate about a quarter of them in costume, but, then again, in New York it is always so hard to tell. The train came and the mobbed pressed on. An older black guy was sitting near the door, taking up an extra seat fo...r his dinner, tuna out of a can, the lid pried open and rolled halfway back; a soft pretzel on a piece of wax paper; and a beer in a paper bag. I was tired and I wouldn’t have minded a seat, so I fixed my best guilt-inducing stare on him. He looked up at me mildly amused and took a forkful of tuna and a bite of pretzel, washing it down with a swig of beer. He was in work clothes, probably had had a long day, and he was enjoying his meal so much nobody was going to begrudge him the extra seat, not even me.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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