Subways are a cesspool of curiosity. They're like a zoo, but without the guilt, and best of all, you're inside of the cage.

I've adopted a couple of habits during my journey aboard the train.

I observe how many passengers are married, as determined by the presence, or lack thereof, a ring. Engagements count as marriages. Why I do this, is beyond me. Perhaps marital status gives me some sort of insight into their life. Or maybe I merely enjoy scouting shiny, diamond rings. Then again, hands are unavoidable on the subway, they clench metal bars just above my eyes, hold newspapers across the isle, or fold neatly into laps beside me.

The practice I indulge on the train is to notice business men, note their attire. In Olympia Washington, all men look the same to me. Business, sport and casual are each their own genre, so men subscribe to one and then blend into the pack.

Such is not the case in New York.

For businessmen alone, there are pin striped suits, purple ties, tight pants, high pants, pointed shoes, shoes with ruffles, the list goes on. I saw five red headed men in pink shirts today. I'm not sure which feature was more surprising to me.

I wonder if others think about their train-mates. I can't help myself. I spent 25 minutes next to a man reading Hebrew today. He is now forever imprinted in my life, signified by this blog entry. I will never see him again, we did not exchange a single word, and I don't know his name.

It's strange that on the subway we spend time in close proximity to strangers we will never see again.

What if I had met him?

The other day I was taking the 1 Train uptown to pick up a manuscript for work. Across from me was sitting a man who bore a striking resemblance to Ian McKellen. He was wearing a well pressed grey suit, with black orthopedic shoes, and very round reading glasses. He was casually swishing a lollipop in his mouth.

After midtown, the train was quite full. I could no longer see Sir Ian McKellen through the sea of passengers, but I could hear him. It's astonishing that in a mob of 50 people sausaged into a car together, there is very little conversation.

I heard crunching. I didn't have to see, to know that Ian had finished his lollipop.