On the 6 train. Heading downtown. On a Friday night. I get on the car. Visual assault of teenage flesh. They are precisely young, and wear cocktail dresses they fill with neither curves or experience. Their speech patterns, the well-known warbly sing-song, fascinate me. Every sentence ends upward, flush with optimism– or is that disdain– every tone is flung recklessly, like a wild scarlet hankerchief fluttering for attention. They disembark at 23rd st, surprising me.

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