On an uptown C train a man sits down next to me and immediately pulls out a drawing pad. I’m immersed in the book I’m reading and don’t pay much attention other than to notice that he’s started sketching in quick, deft strokes. After a couple of stops my curiosity gets the better of me and I steal a quick glance to my left. I see that the drawing pad is filling in with the features of a man (my view of this is a bit blurry, as I’ve pushed my glasses up onto my forehead to read). I notice too that the artist is constantly looking to his right. ‘He must be drawing the man standing in front of us,’ I think to myself. I try to immerse myself in my book and ignore the artist’s increasingly frequent looks at his subject, but after a while I find myself speculating about what this man being sketched would think if he realized he was the subject of a portrait. Flattery, annoyance, perhaps even violation? I myself would probably fall into the latter category, as I greatly value my anonymity on the subway, and don’t appreciate my image being captured without permission. After a few stops the man in front of us gets off. The artist continues sketching, perhaps putting the finishing touches on his speed-drawn portrait; then, at the next stop, he starts to gather his things to get off. I discretely push down my glasses onto my nose and hazard another glance at the pad: the artist’s now fully-realized subject is a middle-aged man with a beard, his glasses perched on his forehead and a book in his hand. The likeness is astonishing, and I find, to my surprise, that I’m rather flattered by the depiction…