Regular Habits

Getting into the last car of the A train at about ten to eight in the morning proved to be an irritating experience. A woman with very regular habits, but who was possibly very crazy, was often on the train. The regulars sensed her presence immediately, and their faces said, "Oh, not this again." The others caught on quickly.

She was about sixty, neatly dressed, and seemed to be from the Caribbean. She was amazing for her remarkable breath control, which would have done an opera singer proud. Without coming up for air, and almost without stopping, she kept up an almost unintelligable tirade in full voice. I never figured out the content of her rant, which could have been religious, personal, or perhaps was her way of rehearsing for her day.

When I got on at West Fourth Street, it was already in full force, and it probably continued long after I left the train at 145th Street. I always wondered what kind of job she had, and what made her keep to such a regular schedule.

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