On my way to an urgent meeting in the Bronx, I questioned the irritating and routine circuit I followed every week. Over the bridge, stuck for hours on the Cross Bronx, on and on and on inhaling exhaust fumes. I needed a change. Just for grins, I revisited the metro of days long past. Walking the long tunnels and the small underground bridge, the mild, stale urine aromas made me nostalgic — and dizzy. I’m so happy this was so well cleaned since my last visit! NOT. It felt so comfortable, yet alien at once. My vision blurred. Some smelly guy bumped hard into me and walked on with no apology.

Among the changes I didn’t recognize was a fare stand centered in a tunnel. It was only three feet cubed and unmanned. Only when I broke thru the crowds and bumped into it did I see it was just a simple newspaper stand, of sorts. Even more shocking, it was on the honor system and cash was strewn around the stacked papers. How odd! Everything took on a wispy, dreamlike and surreal atmosphere.

Fifty feet farther was the first of what turned out to be a two-compartment split fare booth. Instead of tokens or a metro fare card, I had to buy a stamped fare strip from the chatty attendant I thought I knew and pay for it at the second booth. My memory said that guy was funny. Unfortunately, when I got there, he was gone. His replacement was silent and “busy” while ignoring me. I asked for a rail map, but he didn’t respond and I didn’t see any.

The two exceptionally pretty girls who were behind me kept giggling and hanging off each other. They were making a bit of a scene on the dim, unreal, private subway stage setting and seemed more than just friends. They slipped past me, still giggling and looking back at me. When I entered the crowded station, they were against a wall, smiley, whispering, and slyly pointing at me. Though striking me as dim-witted, they piqued my curiosity — and arousal. I moved deliberately close to them to look at the rail map on the wall behind them. Pushing the point, I extended an arm between them to touch them and the map, then separate them.

The tiny two-by-three inch map was centered in the framed four-by-six foot black paper mat, but the writing was much too small to read. I couldn’t even tell if it were a full rail map, and I couldn’t find the “Apahee Junction” station we were in, so I studied the girls instead.

They flipped their hair, pursed their lips, and batted their eyes, then slowly moved apart — still smiling. The pretty blonde moved five feet away from her friend, leaving the striking brunette trapped behind my arm. I pretended to ignore her. She leaned against my arm and slid her hand lightly, seductively along it, to my shoulder, and back as she moved around me. Her face was close to me though the crowd was too small to force her against me. She teased me — successfully.

When she moved to the next wall ad space which held a full four-by-six foot map centered on South Spain, I moved closer to them and studied the full color map, keeping them together this time. Then, I looked “intensely” at the next ad frame. I didn’t notice it was a full map of Africa. Silently, I looked back at the distorted map of Spain — and the brunette. She leaned closer to me and with a breathy accent asked, “You didn’t do well in geography, did you? Call me Bea.”