“You look like you do something creative,” I say. “Don’t tell me. I’m gonna guess. I’m really good at this. I’m psychic.”
I tell her to give me her hand. I guess that she does performance art. Something with glue and rubber.
She says that I’m close. She says that she does do some performance, works with film. She’s an actor. And a model.
“Wow, a model in New York City,” I say sarcastically. “What a surprise.”
She turns away from me and looks toward the opposite end of the train.
Then, two seconds later, she turns back to me.
“Sarcasm from a hipster in New York, what a surprise,” she says.