Toepicker and Eyeballer
I was waiting for the J/Z to take me to Essex Street. She'd been standing on the opposite side of the tracks, looking in the deeper into Brooklyn direction, arms folded across her ribs. He was staring at her, then around, then at her, then around again. It was as if he'd spotted money on the ground and needed only an approval provided by the absence of any nearby owner to claim it as his.
When she moved her head toward Manhattan, he glanced away. When she swiveled again, back to the deeper into Brooklyn direction, he resumed the staring. Then she started picking her toe, available via the exposure of it wearing sandals provided. Her head down and eyes to foot, he kept his leer steady for the duration of her task. It looked like he wanted to speak at her. His body language was that of someone trying to inject a statement into a conversation already in progress.
I wondered if he wanted to share something about his own foot, which appeared to be in a brace. But his A-Shirt exposed a lot of chest hair, and the hair on his head was slicked slickly back. Judging only by this, whatever he was thinking of saying, she was too young for him.
My J train arrived and I was off to the office before I could overhear if he spoke.