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Subway Journals: Part 12 by Ray Printer Friendly


The question, something like, what now, keeps running through my mind.

Steeped in fog, the city continues in busy silence. Another thought, constant and something close to rage-inspiring. So tired of people, to the point where you cheer for the hideous creature in every horror movie you watch. The aliens with sharp teeth and and their bones inside-out, they want to kill off the human race, and your only thought is that at least they'll get the guy sitting behind you with the awful cologne.


The girl with the flowers, does she see the world like I do? She never smiles.


Flashes of leather, some guy on a gray couch, a wooden chair at a kitchen table.


1/6/03 04

That yearly change, it always takes me a bit of getting used to.

Scanning through the crowd, catching withering flowers, the eyes of sad lovers, smiles like tears.

Cold toes pressed against the wall, craving warm things like blankets and strong drink. People pressed in jackets, coats, scarves, hats. It's the wind that really stings your fingers, like invisible wasps, tiny and pissed off.


Sun, bright and deceitful in this nine-degree weather, from inside a warm building, it looks like a nice day. As long as you ignore all the people out there, shivering and turning blue.

Glimpses of familiarity, what is it that limits us? Time, rules, standards, upbringing. A million friendships ignored on a near-daily basis, a million friendships, a million friends. Besides, everybody wants something, right?

Coffee cup sitting, having your own chair like a big boy, what do you think about the subway ride as we're jostled about? Insides sloshing around, you look about to tip over with every stop and start. Coffee cup sitting, you seem like any other intoxicated city dweller.

Coffee cup sitting, keeping the girl company, keeping others way from her, keeping them from getting close, keeping them at a distance. You're there, bold in your smallness, a little liquid-filled sentinel. You, constantly alert, coffee cup sitting, have a good day.

Sitting inside the coffee shop, looking out. There's an abandoned toilet out on the sidewalk, like someone finally caught on to the fact of what bums use the street for. I don't know if anyone has used it since it has been there, and I don't really want to know.

Across the street, trees stand stoic in the square, the only things in nature that take their clothes off for winter. Wonder what it would be like if a tree would talk back. Maybe they're crazy, or maybe they're just that tough.

Blind man strutting, confident in darkness, it all looks the same when it all looks black.

Entered By Tracie From Unknown
2011-04-11 01:38:38

He protects her from them, them eyes, them arms, them pinching fingers...and I can see past his coffee cup, past those plastic buttons of his white shirt, to the red and yellow "S" emblem beneath.

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