Men, mostly. Particularly men of a certain age, somewhere between fifteen and twenty-four. Baggy jeans, but not so baggy that whoever’s wearing them couldn’t run away if chased. A lot of people of color unfortunately. A lot of short people of color for whatever reason. Coats or shirts that hung way down past the waist. An overlong belt that dangled between thighs like some sort of Darwinian advertisement. Sensible shoes. People who looked cold but weren’t wearing gloves. Fidgeters and neck-scratchers with candy-caned eyes. High-traffic areas: outside bodegas, a block up from subway exits. The vacant mean-mugs of the chronically bored. Ears without headphone buds. That crocodile-looking motherfucker over there with the beaded eyes and snaggled underbite and arms so short they barely breached his jacket cuffs. To-go coffee cups, especially cups that were never sipped from, without any steam twisting off the rim. The only non-Filipino outside the Philippine National Bank. Two men talking without eye contact, the both of them facing the street.
