pants to the pantless

On my way back to Manhattan this afternoon, I found myself on the 6 train sandwiched between two guys in winter coats and… their underwear. “Ahhh, yes,” I thought. “I read about this.”

Pants Free Day on the subway.

Because I am stubborn like that and absolutely hate giving people the attention they’re after, I acted as though nothing were out of the ordinary. I always ride home from brunch next to dudes in Hawaiian print boxer shorts. Except on Thursdays when it’s Shirt Free Day and then it’s nipples, nipples, everywhere you look nipples.

But today, it was everywhere you looked bare legs.

Men, women. In trench coats and less. Sitting with legs crossed strategically or boldly baring it all for the commuting public. They were amusing, I’ll admit. But the best part of the ride came when a voice piped up from one end of the train.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please excuse the interruption. My name is David* and I am selling pants today for my high school basketball team, and to keep myself out of trouble. They are only one dollar. I have many varieties including denim, corduroyâ€_â€ù

Snort! I forced the smile off my face (do not encourage him!) as I watched him walk through the car selling pants to the pantless. So damn clever, these exhibitionists.

I don’t exactly get why you’d want to ride the 6 train from Brooklyn without your trousers. But really, who cares why? It’s just another one of the millions of itty bitty things that makes New York New York. And just another one of the reasons that, though I get exhausted by the to and fro and consider retreating to quiet of somewhere middle America-ish, I will actually never do it.

It’s just not the same when folks commute pantless down I-75 in the privacy of their own cars. Unless, you know, you’re driving an SUV.

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