Doubles

Doubles are (is?) a Trinidadian/Tobagoan curried chickpea sandwich in a flatbread. I've never actually had one, which is slightly embarrassing as a supposed food person.

Yesterday night, I sat (after a young woman gave up her seat, not explicitly to me, but after looking my direction got up and decided to stand, which I took to mean she thought I was pregnant so I took the seat without giving a shit. What other perks can possibly be obtained from being an aging woman with a gut?) across from a white guy with Fresh Prince style that I assumed had been on the L train since Bushwick. The seat martyr and the '90s lover struck up a conversation about the piece of vinyl she was carrying.  After getting off at the same stop as the man, I race-walked him for a while down Third Ave., then gave up. When I walked into the Scratcher ten minutes later he was seated just inside the door. I smiled out of recognition. He did not.

This morning, a dandy, all brocade, floral prints, three-piece suit, dirty blonde pompadour and impressive beard stood next to me on the A/C/E platform and then on the A train after it arrived. So much style for one slight person. On the way back from lunch he was coming off the one of eight elevators the turnstile had assigned to me after I'd scanned my ID card. A dormant impulse to smile out of recognition bubbled in the back of my brain, but I repressed it in an attempt to be a good New Yorker. Why even bother trying to make eye contact? I did briefly look up and scanned for a signal of humanity. He did not.

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The Intruders involves the coastal Northwest, and featured a fake Portland that was probably Vancouver B.C.

The Bates Motel was meant to take place on the Oregon coast.

My mom lives in a mobile home on the Oregon Coast and to my knowledge there are no hot teenage sociopaths or body snatchers. If it was that exciting, I'd visit more often.

* * *

I watch Ray Donovan for no particularly good reason. The white teenage daughter  dates a black kid and they sang and recorded songs together.

That I watch Satisfaction, a USA Network show, makes even less sense than my Showtime dabbling. There is a white teenage daughter who is dating a black kid and they sing songs together. So much harmonizing.

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