Nice little piece from NCR(eporter) about an encounter on the NY subway.

There I was, minding my own business. I was alone in New York City subway car — the F-train, to be specific — reading St. Teresa of Avila’s Interior Castle, a great read for those interminably long commutes into the city. I was on the cusp of true spiritual enlightenment when four of the biggest, baddest and most boisterous kids I ever came across entered my car and lumbered toward me.

They were everyone’s worst nightmare of what young punks could look like. They were replete with do-rags on their heads, gaudy jewelry, their unspeakably dirty jeans pulled halfway down their rear ends exposing to all the world their taste in underwear brands. Their shoelaces were untied and dragging behind them and they spoke much too loudly for the confines of the subway car.

It’s amazing to think how old I had become just in the course of that particular subway ride. I was seconds away from shaking my walker at them and telling them to stay off my lawn.