Headed west on the 7 train in Queens I find myself sitting next to two families of tourists. Judging from the accents, one is from the American Midwest and one is from Great Britain. Both families seem out of place on the crowded, multicultural 7 train, but they show no signs of being aware of this. Soon the families’ topics of conversation pull me in; both men, it seems, are schoolteachers, and they compare notes on schedules, course loads, administrative issues. The American man is a biology teacher, and he becomes quite animated as he describes field trips he leads students on in the Illinois foothills near their small town. The British man, meanwhile, regales the other family with descriptions of London. The relaxed, easy flow of their banter makes me think at first they must be old friends, or perhaps both involved in some kind of teachers’ summit in New York. But a while later I learn they have in fact only just met, and as the train gets closer to Manhattan the talk turns to the other subject of mutual interest: New York tourism. The familiar landmarks are all trotted out – Rockefeller Center, the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, Chinatown, Central Park – and, somewhat unaccountably, the high point of the science teacher’s trip, Times Square. ‘It’s unbelievable,’ he says, ‘All those lights, it’s like daytime in the middle of the night. Beautiful. You’ve got to see it.’ Then come descriptions of the ‘Desnudas’, the topless, body-painted women who pose for photographs in exchange for ‘tips.’ Borderline crude comments ensue, with the obligatory rebukes from their faux-offended wives and nervous giggles from the teenage kids. At the next stop I exit and move to the next train car, irritated less by the content of what I’ve just heard than by my own disappointment at an encounter I thought at first I’d misjudged, then realized exceeded even my worst assumptions…