I’m on the M5. So far nothing totally gross to report. But then again we’re only at 59th Street. Ooh, some prospects for the freak show just got on. We’re waiting, we’re waiting . . . . A whole block and nothing. What gives? No one is on the phone uttering the immortal line, “Yeah, I’m like on the bus” or “I went to my gynecologist and . . .”. Is this NY? Is this public transportation?

Ah, a woman on her cell phone. Phew. I thought I was transported to Oz (or worse, Kansas). The previously reported contestants for the freak show disembarked without incident.  Oh no, how will I handle near-gentility in a New York bus?

Ok, a man got on who could have been Bachelor No. 3 on the Dating Game or a swinging guy in a 1970s moving about a singles building complex starring Julie Newmar. Leisure suits, over-sized glasses brushed-back hair. Maybe “Love, American Style” (ok, you need to be in your 50s to remember that). Not a natural fiber on him. Phew, New York has not failed me.

Ok, Grace is raining down on me. A man who is eating salt water taffy is trying to get it out of the crevices of his teeth without using his fingers. The facial contortions are remarkable.

Ah, now more action — homeys with some neck action and attitude being bothered by everything. I best not be in their sphere of space although it always extends as far as the next person so somehow it can be inconvenient. That neck movement coupled with the facial contortions of taffy man has really made this trip interesting. “That’s right” plus a lip-smacking sound implying disgust plus a neck jerk and an eye roll.

Other important questions raised on this ride: Why do grey haired white men think they can get away without shaving for a day or two? How do women with scary nails take their metro cards out of their wallets without scratching the operative strip? How do they wipe their tooshies without creating scar tissue?

My stop. More another time.