Hot Friday afternoon. I get on the #7 train at Roosevelt Avenue. At 82 Street two well dressed older women sit across from me. They try to tell me something. I can't quite figure it out, but then I do. There are three high school age young woman sitting next to me and one is very busy decorating another's hand. So here are some snippets of the conversation between Junction Boulevard and Main Street.
Me: to my neighbor. The women across from you are very interested in your hand.
In Spanish
Ladies: to the young woman next to me after she shows off the hand.
Are you Colombian?
Young Woman One: Yes, followed by some discussion about where in Colombia everyone comes from and how long they have been here.
Ladies: How long does it last?
Young Woman Two: About a week.
Ladies: How much does it cost?
In English
Young Woman Two: I don't charge my friends- but about $5
Do you want it done? I won't charge you.
Ladies: The woman show off their hands and note they are no longer smooth -wrinkled with age.
Me: Where are you from?
Young Woman Two: Afghanistan, well my mother is from Afghanistan and my father is from the Ukraine.
Me: Oh my family too, the Ukraine part. Luckily it didn't generate the where and how long discussion. Since the answer to the latter is 100 years and the former - I'm not really sure, Odessa I think was the original home of my paternal grandparents
Then the train entered the tunnel to the Main Street Station. Young Woman Two puts on a long skirt, hands her jeans to Young Woman Three (who never said anything- but stored the jeans in her backpack) and Young Woman Two donned the traditional Muslim head scarf.
We all wished each other a very good afternoon and a pleasant weekend, and headed our separate ways.
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