Tuesday, November 12, 2002

When You Put All Your Weight Into Your Lips Like That, Everyone On The Commuter Train Can Tell What's On Your Mind Day!

Some of us have been riding this line for years now and each of us can find at least ten people in our car that we've seen every morning of our lives for as long as we've been cursed to remember such things. To look into those empty faces even one more time could be enough to break one or two of us. You being new and you wearing your hair cascading down overtop the fake fur collar of your black overcoat ensured that all our eyes were going to be on you anyway. Christ, that guy with the Clancy novel leaning on the Hep C poster, I even know that his fucking name is Philip and that his wife's name is Lane so fuck you if you think I'm gonna risk making eye contact with him again.

But man alive can you strike a pose on that handrail. I sometimes pass the ride by letting my thoughts make a return trip to a bed I used to visit when I was a younger man, but I'll usually pull my hat down over my eyes and pretend to fall asleep afore I let one of these early-retirement targets covet my daydream face. But you, you ain't even here with us are you? Those eyes burn a hole through every head that stands in the way of passage out that rear exit window. And the lips. The way you've got your lips open just a little bit and cupped up against the back of the hand you've got wrapped up tight around the handrail. If you gave your hand a little kiss I bet you'd lose your balance.

Get a room, lady.