Metropolitan Diary

86th to 51st
Dear Diary:

I scoot into a seat on the 6 train,
wedged between two zombies,
headphones clapped over heads,
and watch a symphony

orchestrated by two women
graceful conductors of
swooping arcs sweeping broadly
in the tight space around them

long, unadorned fingers
and supple wrists
tell a story punctuated
by soft guttural sounds.

They take turns.

One beats her chest
for emphasis
the other nods vigorously.

One brings her hands together
a solemn prayer
the other tilts her head in repose.

The subway screeches halt wise.
Standing riders grab the metal pole
before stumbling to the whoosh
of the open door.

I almost miss my stop.

— Elise Chadwick

Hometown Habit
Dear Diary:

I was living and working in Okinawa some years ago when I traveled to Tokyo to meet my college-age son for a long weekend there.

We were exploring a fashionable neighborhood one morning and had joined a small group of local residents who were waiting at an intersection to cross the street.

The signal to walk had not come on, but the traffic was light, and I was itching to cross without waiting for the light telling me that I could.

Then I spied a well-dressed, middle-age Japanese woman on the other side of the intersection. She appeared to be gauging the traffic as well. When she dipped her toe out into the street, I took it as a sign and started across myself.

As we passed in the middle of the street, she nodded to me.

“I’m from New York,” she said.

— Marsha Mose

https://www.nytimes.com/2025/11/09/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html