Just About Glad . . .

It was late at night on the F, after the show and the drinks and the long wait for the train.

The woman sitting next to me, a slender blonde with a look-at-those-teeth smile and the kind of twinkling eyes that makes a person stare away and blush, was knitting a scarf. I pulled out my drawing pad and pens and got to work. Somewhere along the way a busker got on and started playing trumpet tunes to make the toe tap. I said to the knitter that we should dance and, although she agreed, we never did.