you have a streetcar, I want a ticket to anywhere

Streetcar no. 17 gradually becomes my Room of Contemplation. It's the only place I occupy myself with purely humanistic actions. Today for instance, I observed a young couple for a while. She was sitting on his knee. Looking in the other one's eyes, they hardly uttered a word, but the way they chewed a gum to each other was full of commitment indeed. He chewed his gum to her, she chewed hers to him. It wasn't synchronous, admittedly, but in the very same rhythm. Well. One of my teachers says watching egg stains on the table together is a more credible love's proof than sex, so why not chewing.
Right behind the couple there was a Russian/Belarusian woman with beautiful glows and a kid on her knee, a little dark-haired boy that was truly frightened by the enormous size of this world. Or at least one of its elements the form of the mother's bag that took too much of his personal space.
The thick snow was falling outside and the lights where dark yellow, a bit subdued. It felt like a theater stage design. It might have come to my mind due to the new post on Remigiusz Grzela's blog I read this morning ( http://remigiusz-grzela.bloog.pl/ ), an eulogy to the intimacy of the theater. It seems I'm quite a good observer. I notice gestures and subtle facial expressions. I try to find the meaning and the reason of what I see. It applies only to 'field' situations, however; in the theater I'm prepared for the observation, which paradoxically makes it rather poor and superficial. It might be a syndrome similar to the one that occurs in museum. I'm sure ninety percent of those people there, moving like sleepwalkers, actually think about either the pain in their lower back or the lively city that waits outside and no matter how long or carefully they stare at the showcases they just won't see anything. At least I won't. It's a bit different when watching a movie, maybe because of the cameraman who does the prompter's work, whispering what to pay attention to. Or maybe it's the natural setting. Almost as natural as a crowded streetcar.
Nobody's perfect, though. When it comes to acting (I mean natural circumstances), I'm probably the worst protagonist in the world.