I sit down and settle myself on a well-worn plastic orange seat with a mystery smear on it, dangling my tote bag between my legs just high enough to not graze the ominously sticky train floor under my shoes. To the left, my eye registers pair of broad thighs wrapped in green spandex splayed out a few feet next to me, supporting what looks to be some kind of upright suitcase containing archery arrows. A patchwork of plumage in varying hues, textures, and lengths stuck out from the suitcases open top. I snuck a glance at the case, intrigued by the oddly beautiful variation within the mismatched array of arrows. One in particular was green, white and brown and looked like it could have been plucked straight from a live goose or found by the edge of a town pond. I opened and took a sip of the red bull I had in my bag, the opening tab creating a noise that audibly echoed through the train car.

A wiry skater across from me with a mop of frizzy hair and chipped black nail polish looked up from his phone toward the owner of the pair of thighs dressed in green spandex. He leaned forward slightly, his voice cutting through the silent train car.

“Dude that outfit is insane. You really committed huh? I love that you go all out and shit.”

I realized he was referring to the person left of me, who was dressed up like Robin Hood, in all different shades of green and brown layered on top of each other to resemble a costume. A brown sash made from an old UPS t-shirt with only half the printed logo still visible was safety pinned across his front. On his head rested a green hat made of craft felt, stapled together at the ends to create a wearable cylinder wizard-like headdress. Long, green knit gloves stretched from his fingers to his upper arms.

The Robinhood cosplayer gave a small, knowing smile and brushed a piece of imaginary dust off his felt cone hat before responding.

“Oh yeah man, I always go all in. Always gotta dress the part. Been doing archery out in Queens for a couple years now, I do my program during the day and hit the range for the night sesh. Its kind of been my routine - keeps me centered.”

The skater nodded, looking impressed. 

“Thats legit, so like a full routine and everything.”

“Totally. If you’re curious, check their website, They have sessions almost every night. Real chill crowd, the night crew especially has good energy if you like to go in character.”

The metallic screech of wheels on track grew as the train hurled toward the 2nd Avenue stop, and the conversation between them took a pause. 

Every time I’m on the subway I invent lives for people; where they’re headed, what they’re chasing, what keeps them up at night. I try to forget them once they’re gone, out of sight, but sometimes I can’t. There’s something distinctly intimate about Public transportation, a forced closeness with realities you’d never otherwise encounter. A glimpse into lives you wouldn’t normally witness in any other rational, mundane context. I recently stood over a man on claustrophobically full train, the kind that makes me think of those Youtube videos in modern Japan where a uniformed Pusher shoves groups of men and women in professional attire shoulder to shoulder in order for the bloated train car’s doors to close. The man, who was just a foot or two below me, throughout the ride kept fussing with the overgrown edges of his combover style, trying to coax every last strand into hiding the widening bald patch. Fidgeting every few minutes, the man hovered his fingers above his crown, ever so lightly grazing the stiff, shellacked strands, gently spreading them out like brittle spider legs. It felt intrusive to watch, almost voyeuristic, like witnessing someone undressing in slow motion beneath the merciless glow of the harsh fluorescent train lights. Close enough to see pores and pimples, the faint shine of sweat beading at his temples. 

I imagined his story, the invention of his life. I thought of the before and after videos from hair restoration Instagram accounts based in Istanbul he could be viewing on his phone in bed every night; how his wife might feel about her husbands changing appearance and his new affinity for extreme hold hair gel. I thought about what he could have looked as a younger man, a man with a full head of dark wavy hair. Maybe he will get off this train and go straight home to a wife and family who are entirely unconcerned with his changing appearance; who reassures him that this type of thing happens to most men when they get older. 

The skater stood up as the train halted to a stop, tucking his beat-up skateboard under his arm. 

“I’m hopping off here, but good luck tonight - seriously. it was great talking to you.”

“You too man. And hey, If you ever wanna shoot some arrows instead of doing the board thing once in a while, their website has all the sessions. I’m usually out there Wednesdays and Saturdays.”

The skater guy smiled and laughed a little, raising his hand to wave goodbye as he turned toward doors sliding open.

“Might take you up on that.”