Three nights ago, I had overshot my subway station on my way home because I stayed on the express one extra stop. So it was that I came to wait on the Nostrand St. C train platform Manhattan-bound. While I waited, a man sat down next to me on the bench, listening to music so loudly in his Dr. Dre beats that I could hear it all quite well even though those are big cover-your-ears cans.
He looked to be a con-ed employee recently off-shift, because he had a blue hard hat dangling from his rucksack. The music was a typical modern blend: a rapper rapping a verse and an R&B singer singing a chorus. The R&B was uninteresting but the rapper had a style I thought I recognized… but couldn’t quite put a finger on it.
The train came and we both took our seats on it, and because this guy sat next to me I tapped him and asked, when he removed his phones, “what are you listening to?”
He looked at me and said matter-of-factly, “Rap. Rap music.”