It was a wintery twenty-seven degrees this morning. As such, I decided to ignore my "I'm going to walk those forty-three blocks to work" declaration of a few weeks back and boarded an uptown R train at Union Square. I wasn't proud or happy about it, but it seemed like the practical thing to do.
The car I stepped onto was crowded with the usual characters; glum office-drones in various states of half-slumber, less than enthused with the prospect of "hump day". I was struck, however, by an individual across the car from me. Lost in an oversized pea coat, a young woman sat tightly perched between a portly businessman and a slight Asian gentleman. With her head down and bleached blonde hair apostrophed by bulky headphones, this woman sat hunched over a large, unwieldy sketch pad, drawing feverishly with a pencil. In her left hand she clutched a photograph she was evidently trying to studiously replicate. My curiosity piqued, I stepped further into the car to sneak a look.
I moved slightly closer and glanced down at her work. What I saw surprised me. She was sketching a scrupulously detailed portrait of former United States Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld – right down to his squinty stare and creepy skeleton-like grimace. It wasn't a derisively exaggerated caricature, but rather a studiously lifelike – dare I say lovingly accurate – replication of the man's face.
I can only assume she's designing a wanted poster.
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