There are NYC subway passengers sitting, almost swirling across from you.

No rhyme or reason as to who is next to whom. Worthy subjects, apart or together, for Norman Rockwell's brush, Saul Bass's graphic hand, or Johnny Francis Wolf's quill.

A battered, old homeless man is given wide berth. Young gay couple share a giggle, scantily clad and on their way to a Pride event. Little boy in Mother's lap staring, charmed by a face. Blind man pets the dog asleep between familiar legs.

Businessman, NY Times spread wide, is distracted by the shirtless lads laughing to his right. Ladyboy prostitute in daring dress and heels hangs dearly on a subway handgrip. Priest standing, facing door, eyes averted toward our hooker, wondering if the cleavage real, ignores the beggar reaching out a hand for help.

Way over to our left, a bearded man in red. Santa hat adorns his head.

No one is on their device.