Maya Angelou has strong words with her nephew as they take weak tea together in the Subway in New York...

Miss Maya disapproves of the ripped-jeans look. She's always thought it looks scruffy and unkempt. She just doesn't like that look. "Who even came up with that look, what were they thinking, have they never heard of a patch or a sewing needle and a length of cotton thread!?" She was as fine as a fine thing about ripped jeans in the building industry, or out in the fields. "Why, I ain't expecting nobody to turn up to a field full of collard greens in no carefully pressed silken-suit!" Gregory, who respects Miss Angelou 99% disagrees with her Miss Inter-Pretation of his "fashion choice" and dares not divulge to his adoptive aunty that he actually bought his jeans "designer-ripped!" So, there they sit, clicketty-clack on the Metro track, temporarily stoney-faced until such a time, not long now, as a passing memory pops into one of their like, yet unalike minds and cracks a smile to break the gloom...not long now, not long now...