During a particularly lengthy late-night subway ride home from Brooklyn the other night, I watched this man empty a gift bag from whatever party his girlfriend had seriously outpaced him at, puff it out, and hold it near her lolling, wasted head as she lay passed out on a pregnant homeless woman. (Digestive horrors aside, I was almost excited to maybe watch her puke into a bag from a place called Dry Bar.) He watched her the whole time, his pale sweet brow furrowed, and even though I’m sure he was thinking don’t you do it don’t you throw up the whole time, he was calm and even ran a thumb along her hairline every once in a while.
Nice. She didn’t need the bag, nor will she remember his thoughtful repurpose of it, but that’s OK — I will.