Loaf of Bread

So. Shit happens to me. I mean, shit happens to everyone, but I feel like I get more than my fair share. I should clarify, too: sexy shit. Like that Sunday morning when I was training up to New York to have brunch with my family in Manhattan. There were a total of five people in this particular car, which is why I picked it to ride in. And then this guy came on, unremarkable as far as I was concerned. What I did find remarkable-- not to mention completely annoying-- was that he decided to sit in the seats directly across the aisle from me. It struck me as strange and stupid to sit there when he had so many opportunities to sit by himself (so to speak). It was like I was invisible or something-- he didn't pay me the least bit of notice. Somewhere in his 30's, attractive-ish, I guess. He reminded me of an uncle, one of my own, back in the day. There was something a little throw-back about this guy, a little retro. Maybe it was the mustache. And he was wearing carpenter jeans (please, I know!) and a rugby shirt. His hair was the color of an old penny and cut short. We made eye contact, but it was as though I were a loaf of bread or something. He took off his jacket and pulled a book out of its pocket, an old paperback edition of "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance." (Hell, Straighty!) Thus snubbed, I turned my attention to my Times' crossword puzzle...

(Yikes, I'm going to be late for a meeting-- more later...)