Sitting on the train, Samuel L. Aviators, untied salted work shoes beside Spanglish speaking friends that talk social networking. Internet realities taking over real life socializing networks. Fuzzy flaphats, a capped man with a broom mustache. Upper East Side local Bronx bound. Napping, waking, drooling, coughing. Doors part and close, don’t lean. “They think I’m playing, I’ll kill them” He jerks his body at the mustache man, stepping to, fear reflected in his sunglasses at night. Next stop, high buns and yoga mats, last stop cuchifritos and your baby mother.