Nervous Conditions

After my requisite subway ride in, I went walking tonight in Manhattan at 6pm, the other end of rush hour, and noticed lots of suspicious activity:

A man sitting on the benches in a subway station, but not on a subway platform (therfore not waiting for a train). Any sensible person would wait outside; the heat index outside was around 110 degrees with breezes; inside the subway platform it was hotter, more humid, and stagnant air. I thought about calling the police but decided that he was more likely a madman than an explosive one. And madmen are a dime a dozen.

Me walking an unnecessary extra mile before going to my destination, in the name of some minimal kind of exercise, despite the heat. Very suspicious.

But some sightings that might seem odd were not-so-suspicious:

The crazy man all zipped into a leather pilot’s jacket (the thick kind) in said heat, nodding to himself, shaking his head, and spitting, on the grates outside Bryant Park Station. He’s there every day.

Piles and piles of giant suspicious black packages on every street corner: it’s garbage collection night in Midtown.

Thousands of people milling around very slowly (um, loitering?) — each wearing a backpack, or sporting a briefcase, large purse, Macy’s bags or cargo pants with enormous bulging pockets. That’s just business as usual around these parts.

I myself had an open topped small bag large enough to contain something troublesome. In fact, it contained a liter of water, a handkercheif, some smokes, and a cellphone. You know what you can do with cellphones. I smuggled the water into my library-of-choice. We all break some kind of rules, even us seemingly law-abiding folk.