WORKS ON DIGITAL PAPER

JMZ, Williamsburg Bridge

It was the gunshots from the first-person shooter game he was playing that caught my attention. The Spanish soap opera novella caught my eye. She would tuck the comic book into her bag and lean into his puffy shoulder. While letting fly a continuous round, he would jostle his right arm free, wrapping her momentarily for an affectionate squeeze. His thumbnails were yellow to the point of ash, protrudant and strikingly thick. She carried a large, red and white striped umbrella with an image of a golfer mid swing on the handle. On the other side, the young black man with his skateboard and glasses scribbled in a book with a pencil. The train stopped at Delancey. Deliberately switching the game off with his nubby nail, he held the device up to his right without a spare turn of the neck. She took it, barely looking up herself, stuffing it in the bag with the novella. The doors opened, he rose first, took the umbrella and shuffled out. She shuffled after him.