I was sitting on the subway the other day, biting my nails, and I flicked the saliva-lacquered nail speck I had unhinged from the nail mainland, onto the leg of the lady sitting next to me - she, innocently reading the New York Post or Metro or something else that was free. Purely habitual. I gave myself a second before peaking out of the corner of my eye to see if she noticed. She didn't. However, I saw the girl sitting across from me chuckling because she had witnessed this little act. I discredited her opinion though. She was wearing flip-flops in February in New York.*
*Later that night, I was walking to the Rainbow Room in my new, stylish and oh so non-sensible, pointy shoes. As I felt the right one boaring a hole into my big toe, I wished I was wearing the flip flops. Cold feet are better than bloody ones. A little flap of raw toe skin haunted me for 2 days thereafter. Moral of this story? I'm pretty sure there isn't one, but there really should be.