moonshine on 14th street

I got mooned on the subway yesterday.

Two butt cheeks were smiling at me when my head emerged from the pages of a book at 14th street. The smiling cheeks belong to a boy with his jeans down to his thighs - the way boys in the hood wear their jeans. They wear them this way so they can run like penguins when there’s a gang fight (think March of the Penguins in the Bronx).

His jacket was too short to cover his butt, and he had left out the ubiquitous (and necessary) big T that hides indecencies such as this. He had also opted for flimsy, white, tight briefs, instead of the mandated boxer shorts. As sick as it makes me, I could not tear my eyes away. My head went back to the book alright, but my eyes were rolled all the way up my forehead. This was my view up till 149th street, six stops that took more than a half hour to complete in rush hour train traffic. I don’t feel sorry for myself though; all my sympathies were with the lady sitting in front of the boy.