Different tracks

I got to the 49th Street platform just as an R local train was pulling in. For 10:30 at night it was pretty crowded, mostly tourists getting out of Broadway shows headed downtown. Two women reading "Steel Magnolias" Playbills compared notes on the show. A bunch of gum-popping bridge & tunnel white girls talked loudly about some boy they thought liked one of them. We pulled into Times Square, and I was about to tune out the inanity with my iPod when I looked to my right and saw Vic. Vic was a former neighbor of ours, one of the two holdouts in the building. I hadn't seen him since we moved 4 months ago. He was with Mavis, his "bride," as he called her. He saw me too and popped his head in the door of the train.

"How are things going with the new place?" he asked.

"Coming along," I said. "Are you still there?"

"Yep," he said.

"To the end?" I asked.

"We'll see," he said, an enigmatic smile on his face.

"Good luck with that," I said.

"Thanks," he said. He popped his head back out as the door closed. I waved to them as we left the station.

They got on the N express across the platform. I saw them on the train at the 34th Street station and watched them speed ahead through a different tunnel. Same direction, different destinations.