Neon Batman in New York City

I’m sitting on the train. The man in front of me is wearing a neon Batman shirt with type (lettering) that looks Korean or Taiwanese (it’s all designy and abstracted, so :-P). I’m guessing it says “Batman”. I think “Neon shirt? Definite foreigner.” He is obviously within the thralls of either sightseeing hard! or from a serious hangout from where the only friends he got in NYC stay. He moves, eyes closed, in dreamland, slops to the front, shoulder to the pole, anchoring it, and his dreamland-infested subconscious churns the muscles of his face into a smile. He must feel comfy. He slops a bit more, pivoted by the pole, a rotating slop. That’s when I see his headphones clinging to his ears like they were claws from a Batarang, his iPhone dangling like a damsel in distress. I tap him on the knee firmly. He looks up. I point. He totes. Thumbs up. Thumbs up.

He came from dreamland, still a bit disoriented, but was so comfy that his eyes begin to close. His eyes open in silent alarm. He curiously looks out of the traincar’s window. It’s his stops! He jets! Before the last bit where I can see of him, by the frame of the traincar door he shoots back towards the inside of the traincar door a “thumbs up”! I, within the thralls of the drunken and the troopers, the late-workers and misplaced souls, clap like as if I’m saying “And there it is everybody!” …Crickets.

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