A street story to be classified under "SUBWAY"

There is always a question as to "what is 'the street'" or rather, "where is 'the street'". Is it purely a public space of that facilitates movement? What about the private spaces, that also, but not equally, facilitate movement?

Sometimes I allow my "street" to include the subway car. Passersby appear in the window as you move parallel with another train like those you may pass on the street - but exchanging glances for a longer moment than average. There is something else about the subway car which makes it a peculiar "street" in the sense that there is as much, if not more (and definitely less) potential for social interaction - especially within the train car.

Since many good things happen in the form of stories ... here is a subway tale:

Thursday mornings are the my most exciting in terms of subway travel. I get to wind the entire system. Take locals and expresses. As I am rarely able to get a seat on any of the trains I catch my eyes wander to haircuts and shoulders of my fellow standing passengers (versus shoes of those seated).

At Atlantic Avenue I got on the express train to Union Square. Pushing my way in to actually have something to hold onto as we were catapulted across the Manhattan bridge I spotted something on a young man's back.

I said to myself, "He has a caterpillar on his back!" And then being slightly rational, I rethought the situation: "I am in a New York City subway car. There is no way this guy has a caterpillar on his back".

So of course I had to figure out what this two-toned one inch long thing was: perhaps a tag? but it wasn't centered; what about a two-toned piece of yarn ... maybe his mom knits?

And then IT MOVED! I became overjoyed and tapped the young man on his back. "Excuse me, I said, you have a caterpillar on your back". He removed his headphones and asked what I said. Finding my words I responded, "You have a caterpillar on your back, would you like it?" Proceeding to take it off his back and hand it to him immediately, he was first slightly stunned (as I was) that he had indeed a caterpillar on his back.

Letting it inch up and down his arm, this man in his early twenties proceeded to watch this caterpillar as if he was still a 7 year old. The divide between the New York street (or subway) was so great that the existence of nature had been forgotten and its reappearance created both novelty and nostalgia.

As he found a seat, he did after all have a second, and momentarily dependent, passenger traveling with him he smiled at me. Not out of flirtation but out of the excitement of finding a caterpillar.