i had a feeling that i belonged

last night i took the express down lexington to catch the Q at Union Square. a pretty and stylish young woman with long, curly blonde hair and a brightly colored print coat smiled at me from behind fetching glasses. it isn't a typical thing for me to get checked out by a hipster girl on the subway, but i noticed we both had the same bag - a token from a Diesel jeans gallery opening. what were the odds? and it's such a unique piece. in a day full of the same black kate spade totes, Seven jeans and that ubiquitous Gap pink trench, does anyone have anything totally unique anymore? so unique that we bother to make eye-contact and smile at someone in recognition of a shared possession?

at union square, a man with with dreads and a rastafarian knit hat played guitar and sang out a song that is unique in that it feels so private and personal -- totally internal -- but can only be belted out. Tracy Chapman's "Fast Car" is one of my favorite songs. I remember hearing it on the radio for the first time, coming home from school. As I rode along with my mom on Jeff Davis Pkwy under Oak trees past economically depressed Tulane Avenue, I felt like this woman was singing just to me. And that's how I feel everytime I hear that song. There's no way to really describe the nature of Tracy Chapman's voice. But the cycle of that song's story gets me everytime.

As I stood on the Q platform listening to the music pouring down the steps that I had just descended, I felt like I could cry just from hearing someone else clearly feeling that song the way I always do. Losing all sense of public while on the subway comes from a good book, a rare shared glance or the familiarity of an old favorite song made new by a boy with a guitar.