A drunk girl in a Yankees jersey was standing in front of the entrance to the B, Q, and 4 trains (both uptown and down).  She pointed at the platform beyond the terminal and asked, “Where does this go?”

How do you even start to answer that?

On the subway: Two Pureto Rican girls and one guy with two little kids and two of the tiniest kittens I’ve ever seen. I’m jealous. Of the kittens, I mean, not the little kids. I always look for kittens in corners of alleys. I’d take care of them for a while before finding good homes. We’re also dying to see how the dogs would react.

One was sleeping soundly, but one was fussing, so the girl handed it to the guy who wrapped him up in a baby burp cloth, like a burrito. The kitten was so small that the guy was able to hold him with one hand. It fell asleep instantly, with it’s tiny tail sticking out of it’s wrapping, twitching slightly.

Gattino burrito.

A man stuck his head through the open subway car and addressed the passengers inside.

“Does this train run local?” We were at Jay street, on the A. Tourists don’t go to Jay Street. People who live in Brooklyn and should know where they are going go to Jay Street.  Just saying.

I was about to answer him when he shouted at the train car, “Hey! Wake up! IS THIS A LOCAL TRAIN?!”

“NO!” yelled about five us us, and then the doors slid shut.

“Hey wait,” I said, “did he just tell us to “wake up?”

“Mmm-hmmm! Yes he did.” said the woman next to me. “Yes he freakin’ did!”

We scowled at him together through the windows of the subway car as the train pulled away.