CROSSTOWN BUS.(The Talk of the Town; anecdote)

Among the passengers the other afternoon on the Ninety-sixth Street crosstown bus was a young black man in bluejeans and a white T-shirt. He wore a black brimmed hat, with earflaps that were pulled down over his ears, despite the heat. He was thin to the point of being scrawny. His narrow shoulders swayed as he walked up the aisle. He had a large gold chain around his neck. His teeth were slightly bucked. He took a seat and looked around, smiling. Clearly he belonged to the tribe of extroverts. The eyes of the woman across the aisle from him were fixed steadily on her paper. The man next to her scrolled through messages on his cell phone. Beside him, a little boy laid his head in the lap of his sitter. The young man slumped in his seat. He spread his long legs. His head bobbed slightly.

At the next stop, a young Latina woman came walking down the aisle. She was wearing a sleeveless green dress and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She carried a handbag with a pattern of flowers on it. Wires from the bag led to little earplugs. The expression on her face was remote. The young man occupied an outside seat. The seat next to him was one of the last left vacant. The young woman stopped beside him, a gift from life, and he looked at her and jumped briskly to his feet, then stepped aside to allow her to sit by the window.

She placed the handbag on her lap and looked straight ahead. The young man tilted his head and nodded several times. "Got your music," he said.

The young woman looked at him and smiled politely but briefly, then she returned to staring straight ahead.

The young man touched the brim of his hat. He smiled. "What're you listening to?" he said.

The young woman said something quietly, which gave him the opportunity to lean closer to her. "Barkley," he said.

The young woman shook her head.