The season

On the subway platform to work today, I hear a scream. Morning commutes are always devoid of talk, hundreds of people totally silent, so the scream is cause to look. Maybe someone got scared by a rat? Instead, an older woman with 80s-style glasses runs down the platform and grabs another woman from behind and says, "How dare you?" The other woman, a young hipster, turns around surprised. "How dare *I*? Get your hands off me old lady!" The older woman stands shocked and shakes her head, disgusted. I wonder which one is at fault and who to side with. The train pulls up.

We cram into the train. I am positioned under a man's armpit, between a woman on one side and the seat on another. Sitting in the seat, a black man lips the words to gospel that is playing on his portable DVD player. He is not using headphones so we can all hear the gospel. Me and him are the only ones that can see it on his screen though. I begin to wonder if he is part of the choir or if he knows someone in the choir, because why would he be so passionately into the songs? And why would he know all the words?

Up on the street, Macy's has its windows decorated. They have put up a giant inflatable elf above one of the entrances. I pass by three Salvation Army collections--all ring bells, one has a french horn. Homeless people congregate outside K-Mart and tourists gather outside the popcorn store ("one of Oprah's favorite things!"). Every store I pass is pumping holiday pop. Our office building has strung politically-correct purple and red lights on the trees outside and on a large wreath hung in the lobby. There are signs saying the building management is doing a coat collection for the homeless but, last year, I actually brought a coat to donate and the guy at the front-desk had no idea what I was talking about and sent me to the local police precinct instead. I figure the sign is just for public relations.

Thanksgiving was spent at my recently-engaged friend's place in Queens. Saturday night, I went to the Russian & Turkish bath house, which is quickly becoming a favorite spot. I was introduced to the manager, Dimitri, who complained about cheap Russians. In the biggest steam room, I realize I am sweating next to Jonathan Ames who is apparently a regular here.

On the phone last night, my parents inform me they have returned from Iran now. They have come and gone, and I still don't have my papers. Part of me is relieved, but the other part feels time passing.