I like strangers a lot. I've never quite wrapped my mind around why, but I find something so intriguing about an accidental encounter, or perhaps coincidental meeting, of two people who many never see each other again. at least not in the same light or as the same people. I love the unwritten but softly supposed stories of a stranger. I was taking the subway back from brooklyn this one time when I noticed a man reading a newspaper in the back of the car. the throng of passengers steadily evanesced with each passing stop, but the man never so much as flinched, his newspaper xxxxxxxxxxxxx remaining unbroken. I found him interesting, so I approached the man and asked him if I could take his picture. he obliged and as I looked though the camera viewfinder to adjust my focus, a million and one potential lives for this man occurred to me. I decided he rode the train up and down manhattan and brooklyn every saturday afternoon, just to have his own quiet corner of the world where he could escape and flick through the news. not that a subway is a place for much quiet xx or privacy, but consider the crowd comfort mentality: people like new york because no one knows tour name. nine million people live here; you are a mere ant on an enormous anthill embellished with flashy lights. if you're not at the top of the hill with your name written in those lights, you're xxxxxxxx xxx xxx xxxxxxxxx doing everything you can to cling to the slope and not slip to the bottom. but the man on the subway had a different mentality. he sat at the foundation sometimes. he knew it was okay to be anonymous.