There’s a man sitting adjacent to me wearing a very dapper, British-inspired outfit consisting of different tones of khaki and light brown. He wears a tweed blazer, has a Super Bowl-sized ring on his right hand, and holds a cup of coffee whilst reading an actual newspaper. The New York Post it turns out.
The woman sitting next to me is either crazy or speaking into headphones I can’t see, as every few minutes she says something that seem like complete nonsense. For example: “Listen up, hey, hey, study.” Not to me, but to the paper in front of her. Maybe there’s something deeper going on with her that I can’t see. A security guard named Michael walks by, and suddenly she says: “Hi, Michael!”
“Hi, Simone,” he greets her with a wave and a smile before walking on.
It’s an unusual day on the Staten Island Ferry. It’s raining, but looking out the windows, I can see nothing but the light gray color of an impending storm. It’s a little disconcerting to know there are trade ships, coast guard boats, The Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island and Manhattan beyond those windows, but from the main level of the ferry, I can’t see any of it.
The ferry rocks and sways more than usual. Granted my idea of what is “usual” for the ferry seems to change all the time. Originally, I thought it was an occasion for the ferry to crash into the docks. Now I know, it’s just a regular Tuesday.
Sometimes when I’m at work, I still feel like I’m on a boat. Which is a strangely tropical feeling to have in the metropolis that is New York City.
The man dressed in khaki looks up and tears his issue of the New York Post right down the center. He seems unpleased with something he must’ve read. That’s what his face conveys, at any rate.
And just like that, he gets up and walks away.