adaptations

People who tend to use their left hands more than their left side of the brain tend to have difficulties with language. I guess this must be right. I barely manage to solve the crossword puzzle in the monday New York Times... Tuesday?, I looked at all the hints and just smiled. I do not think I got one right. I am looking forward to tomorrow. Who knows, maybe my brain will find it impossible to solve any one of these progressively more difficult puzzles until hmm... not really. I wonder if there could be a cross word puzzle for lefties. I wonder how it would work.
A moth was hiding on the subway window. The animal was holding on to the inside of the glass. It looked like three square inches of beautifully natural bark, right behind the heads of commuters. A beautiful, somehow scary animal. Asleep?
The woman who obstructed my view of the moth, was pretending that she had to pick something up. Maybe she was just trying to see what stations we were passing. She was doing so even when there were no stations to look for, very odd. On the inside of her wrist was the tattoo of a blueish star. It looked more like fashion than meaning. As she was leaving the car, she glanced at me with a strangely promising smile, as if she were taking away some toy, for now, but definitely promised to bring it back.
I just wanted to see the moth.
One of the Posters advertising a university had a picture of a clearly well educated stock photography model saying something like: "If it wasn't for this and this university..."... somebody crossed out the "wasn't" with a ball point pen and wrote "weren't"... this made me smile...
A woman next to me was clearly making somebody very unhappy by complaining loudly in Arabic. Her voice was so penetrating that I expected her sitting right next to me, not two seats down, next to her completely silent, worn out husband. He did not say a word, all he had left was his quiet stare.
The woman right next to me was actually holding the copy of today's cross word puzzle. It was the same Puzzle which made me smile about my inability to solve it in any way, except by maybe connecting the numbers.
She was filling out the squares as if they were the address section of some sort of order form. She glanced up from the paper to maybe think about the exact address or the exact name of the street, but it was not a pondering, it was a short nibble on the back of her permanent black pen. She must have been so bored by the simplicity of the hints that she chose to fill in the squares in a pattern. The words in the center were first, then the ink spread intelligently into the corners of the little black and white mosaic. I had to leave the train, but in the short period in which I was able to observe her, she must have solved at least 7 of those wicked little questions.
Impressive. The woman was maybe in her late 40’s had no star tattoos on her wrists, she had however reddish hair, she wore very fine glasses...
How many different New Yorks are there really and is what we call the city a multiplication of all the abilities or just a mere lowest common denominator?
I guess it really depends... hmm...