Uptown Whirl

Dearest Gentlewoman on the Uptown 3:
Those two slovenly, slouchy, snickering trash-talking females (I refuse to call them “women”), old enough to be the mothers of any grandchildren you may have, who harangued you when you politely took a seat next to one of them, who said to keep your fat ass off of them, to not sit your old ass on their laps, and who continued to badger you, have no idea how lucky they were that you gave it back calmly and firmly when they deserved fists in their faces that would have silenced them for good.
When you said, in a voice reminiscent of Maya Angelou, “If I’m old, as you said I am, don’t you think I deserve respect?” you deserved an Emmy, a Tony, an Oscar, and a People’s Choice Award.
When you rose to leave at Times Square, I knew I had leave too even though that wasn’t my stop. I had to dash after you, tap you on the shoulder, and tell you you’re my hero and gab with you for a while.
The man accompanying you said I just made your day. And ohhh, you made mine.
Respectfully yours,

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