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Danielle Sepulveres

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Lover of old movies, baseball, tacos and the occasional crop top. Unofficial spokesperson for the bralette. Falls in love a lot. Sometimes I'm fun at @ellesep on Twitter.
Crying on the subway is a New York tradition. There’s a Tumblr devoted to it; Uzo Aduba has admitted to doing it; and if you ask almost anyone who has lived here for more than a few months, they’ll probably tell you they’ve done it at least once. Yes, the subway is an underground emotional refuge that is unique in our city—a place where one feels alone, and yet, oddly comforted in the presence of millions. In...
I close my eyes on the G train. My standard morning commute, before the sun had revealed itself, required that I find a way to create a sense of quiet. Such an early hour and yet not a seat to spare. People blearily heading home after a late night at some can’t-miss party, given away by their makeup smudges or expressions of tired contentment. Construction workers wide awake toting their coolers. The overnight riders...
Sometimes on nice days I skip my transfer to the G train. I walk from the 7 train stop at Vernon Jackson over the Pulaski Bridge and do the same on the way home. One night, instead of the usual throngs of bikers, runners and commuters traipsing over the bridge, I found everyone standing still, watching fireworks light up the sky over the city and murmuring to each other about what the occasion might...

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