Self-photography and the Grim Reaper

Part I
So this guy is practicing his self-photography abilities on the Bleecker Street platform of the Uptown 6 train. Instead of posing by the Bleecker Street sign on the pillars or while seated on the benches, he decides to lie down on his back on the platform while his head hangs over the edge. He takes different pictures from different angles with and without his arm in the shot.

He stands up and proceeds to inspect his work. I guess it wasn't up to snuff so he lies down again, except this time the 5:27am Iron Horse#4 is turning the bend in the tunnel from Spring Street and is quickly approaching the station. So he decides to lie back down and take more pictures. With the dual train lights coming closer you would think that he would stop while he was ahead. Nope, no such luck. Fortunately for this wannabe Ansel Adams, the train operator slows the train down on its way into the station. The look of disbelief on the train operator's face was classic. I wish I had a picture to show you how dumbfounded he looked as he went past me. And talking about pictures, I'd have taken a picture of the poser but someone who lies down on the train platform to photograph himself might not be keen to my taking a photo of him. Not to say that I didn't try to sneak one off. Here he is sitting on the platform as the train entered the station. As my father likes to say "Pobre America" LOL.


Part II
So as I am on my favorite filly, Iron Horse#6 on my way up to the Bronx, on boards the most faithful adaptation of the grim reaper that I have ever seen in the flesh. Allow me to describe this interesting fellow to you: He had stringy greyish brown long hair that was matted with grime and who knows what else. He was wearing a long dirty trench-coat that may have been Black at some point and gave off a non so pleasant odor of must, age and good old body funk. It looked to me that he was wearing a pair of chinos or khaki pants that surprisingly didn't look too damaged or dirty. I would comment on his shoes but to be honest, looking at his shoes would make me take my eyes off of his face, which is something that I didn't want to do.

Ah yes, that face, gaunt and tight on his chin and cheek bones. His eyes were beady, piercing and moving all over the place trying in earnest to make contact with someone. His mouth seemed to be shrinked wrapped along his gums which looked to be missing all of his pearly whites. He also seemed to need some major sun as he was a sickly shade of white.

So our protagonist would pace up and down the train car occasionally stopping in front of a random rider. In doing so, he would tap his left forefinger into the open palm of his right hand and wiggle an emphatic NO with said finger at the rider. At the 59th Street Station, he raced off the train with a whipping of his trenchcoat that would make Gaston Leroux's Phantom of the Opera proud and off he went dashing into the night. New York City, ya gotta love it.