Faces, faces, faces

Living in New York, I see many faces. Since I go everywhere on foot or by public transportation, instead of driving in the protective but isolating capsule called the automobile, I can say I see hundreds of faces everyday.

I enjoy looking at faces; in particular, I enjoy watching faces in the subway train, where seats are generally arranged in two parallel rows facing each other so that I have a panorama of faces across from wherever I sit, and I can watch them without being recognized that I am watching.

Faces come in all shapes and sizes, and I scrutinize them. I compare their features. Noses are fascinating. But I study eyes and eyebrows and foreheads, too; I examine the hair and hairlines; I examine the forehead, nostrils, lips, cheeks, chin, and the complexion. Yes, the ears, too, and they are most fascinating. I check out the bodies and their comportment, as well as the hands and feet; but the faces keep me busy. I recognize different ethnics stocks from all over the world.

I imagine how those age-worn faces looked like when they were young, and, conversely, I try to project what those tender young faces will look like decades from now. I wonder where they came from and where they are heading, and how they spend their day. I speculate what kind of work they do and whether they are what they look like or they look like nothing like what they do for living. I get curious what book a person is reading if she or he is reading and strain my eyes to see the title and patiently wait for the book to get tilted just so that I can read the title.

And I realize I missed the stop I was going to get off at. Oy vey.