THE SHE DOME: Ode to a B-Train Biddy
by Janine Kamouh
The girl “clubbed” hard. I could tell just by looking at her. She was wearing a teal tube dress and Claire’s jewelry on a Thursday at 7pm in Midtown. Her unadulterated excitement to get out there and grind on some middle-aged man meat showed on both sets of cheeks. Jetting off the train at 42nd street, with a smile from ear to ear, she left behind a perfectly straight line of booty crack condensation on the faded orange seat. The swamp-ass of sheer anticipation for a bomb-ass night ahead. It entranced me into a state of wonderment, until a corporate power woman sat down in it, fusing business with pleasure.
The circle of life.
Butt to butt as holy subway cheeks kiss.