the nyc subway is veritably its own study in top-notch Chekhovian drama and lessons from the Universe. sometimes, i'd seriously like to pick out some randoms (folk) and have them spill it: what's your furrowed brow all about sister, what's worrying you bud, what's making you happy child, who do you love woman, who do you hate bro, what do you want man, where do you want to be darling, who do you wish you were sir, where are you coming from madame, oh, and most importantly, where are you going you fool????
sometimes, as i'm rushing to and fro, quick glimpses of something seemingly profound will hit me. exiting the L on Lorimer platform, i looked up to see a woman in a white jacket in a Manhattan-bound train tightly grasping a pole, facing out the sliding-door window, head down, eyes closed, actually it looked rather peaceful...as the train screeched out of the station, i realized that woman had pain written all over her shut eyes, and she was crying, quite solidly. next stop: Reality!
once, running down the stairs from the Downtown 4 to the Brooklyn-bound L, i saw a woman leading a young boy with long blonde hair like a girl, clutching and waving a white stick in front of him. for a moment, i was so very deeply struck by this touching scene of what i thought was a young blind child in this wild morning crowd, when i realized...it was only a hockey stick. asshole!
upon exiting a particularly frightening 3 train heading home from the west side, i saw a...bum...clutching his head, large splattered drops of bright red blood strewn all about him on the dark subway floor like rose petals. i ran away quickly to the ever-so-stressfully long underground transfer to the L at 6th avenue, and what do you imagine could possibly be waiting for me there? rose petals, real ones, bright and red, strewn about my feet like large red splattered drops of blood: hey you, you're a star!
i can't seem to figure it all out, today and tomorrow, everything, him, him, everything, on a veranda overlooking a bay in Jamaica, me, but better, nowhere, and hopefully not straight to hell.
this is rush hour on a bridge. there's life on that side, and life on this. it might look like it's not moving, but right now, it is. this is a standstill on a bridge. there's life on this side, and life on that. it might look like it's moving, but right now it's not.
sometimes, as i'm rushing to and fro, quick glimpses of something seemingly profound will hit me. exiting the L on Lorimer platform, i looked up to see a woman in a white jacket in a Manhattan-bound train tightly grasping a pole, facing out the sliding-door window, head down, eyes closed, actually it looked rather peaceful...as the train screeched out of the station, i realized that woman had pain written all over her shut eyes, and she was crying, quite solidly. next stop: Reality!
once, running down the stairs from the Downtown 4 to the Brooklyn-bound L, i saw a woman leading a young boy with long blonde hair like a girl, clutching and waving a white stick in front of him. for a moment, i was so very deeply struck by this touching scene of what i thought was a young blind child in this wild morning crowd, when i realized...it was only a hockey stick. asshole!
upon exiting a particularly frightening 3 train heading home from the west side, i saw a...bum...clutching his head, large splattered drops of bright red blood strewn all about him on the dark subway floor like rose petals. i ran away quickly to the ever-so-stressfully long underground transfer to the L at 6th avenue, and what do you imagine could possibly be waiting for me there? rose petals, real ones, bright and red, strewn about my feet like large red splattered drops of blood: hey you, you're a star!
i can't seem to figure it all out, today and tomorrow, everything, him, him, everything, on a veranda overlooking a bay in Jamaica, me, but better, nowhere, and hopefully not straight to hell.
this is rush hour on a bridge. there's life on that side, and life on this. it might look like it's not moving, but right now, it is. this is a standstill on a bridge. there's life on this side, and life on that. it might look like it's moving, but right now it's not.
