He is reading a book my grandfather gave me. A book I never finished in time to return it before he died. A book I never got to discuss with him. He is wearing a cap that newspaper boys wear in quaint “historical” movies that make me think of my sister and I playing dress up and hamming it up for our cameras back when you had to hope you took a good picture and your finger wasn’t in the wrong spot (over the flash, in front of the lens). He has on a long-sleeved, blue, button-down with his sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. He has hairy forearms like my father used to have before she became a woman. He has a silver watch that has slid up his forearm a good two inches like what happens to my boyfriend. He has a well-trimmed and contained beard-mustache combo. Under his shirt is a brown undershirt and his pants are jeans I think, but they are almost khaki in color. Between his feet are a backpack and a camera stand. When he got on the train half a dozen stops prior he had a camera attached to the stand. The camera has been safely put away and it makes me think of my old roommate lugging her photo equipment on trains and up stairs and laughing until the camera is in her hands and shooting and I become her subject to manipulate and coax into art. His glasses are up on top of his hat so he must be more like my mother and me, nearsighted, than like my sister, farsighted.

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