2002-11-21 : 4:52 p.m.
Alex versus the lady in red
This is transferred over from my written journal...
Written: (yesterday) 11-20-02 7:15 p.m. I left work a bit late today-- not due to my schedule, rather I was chit-chatting away with Brigid and Doreanne (my co-workers)� So here I am, on the �W��not the usual train I end up on�(due to today�s timing�) And to boot, I just barely made it on to the train- (as it already had arrived to the platform- a bit before I had.) So I had to scurry on to the closest cart- which at the moment meant, I would be sitting in the first cart�(you see, I normally get on the last�) I enter. Directly in front of my line of sight, (on the right most corner of the cart), I see a simple large pile of Black. Blacks, made up of things�pieces of random articles, you and I discard� in differing shades- that now make up this pile of� well� Black. He is probably in his mid to late forties�(although in all likelihood- younger. As I�ve come to learn�the streets age you.) Eeeh� how do I get through these words�without crying in front of these surrounding pathetic people� That stare in their �unclean� disgust�.. � I hate them all� Forgive me, but I do hate them. He sits there, carefully laying across the two vacant seats. Holding himself. He seems to want to just hide behind the mountain of acquired �essentials��carefully covered with black pieces of garbage bags� He has one relatively large cart�with a smaller one rigged to it� quite craftily with pieces of rope and small garbage ties. His eyes are closed and he�s bundled up to his nose�with the same, very familiar ragged scarf� Familiar. I know this man. I had gotten on the �N� train- which follows very much the same line as the �W� I�m on� It was February- past- this same year� My second night in New York City� and a cold night, very much like today. Yes, rainy, cold, and miserable- He must travel the trains (I think)�For as long as he can� So he sleeps- as well as he can. Occasionally, opening his left eye�to check on his things. His �things�. Yes, his �things�. He doesn�t beg. He doesn�t plead. He doesn�t preach to God�or bless you for any gift worth a penny� He rests. And I sit, as I sat then�in his direct line of sight. And if you�re me, you�ll catch the occasional exhausted and empty look in his eyes� And if you�re me, you�ll stare long enough� With a tearful� regretful� sight. And you�ll see a smirk, pierce past the line of his scarf� when he returns your glance. And you�ll apologize wholeheartedly with the bat of your eyes� To then watch him drop his own, back into the warmth of his scarf� and close. There are others around me� and they have noticed me� noticing him. Their faces say it all. They think I am crazy and stupid� Fuck you. Fuck you all. Especially you�yes, you� you little half Asian bitch�in a soft red coat� Fuck you� You�d be horrified to know, how I am fantasizing the perfect scenario�in which I bash your self-righteous face in� Yeah� just one solid deck� How dare you? You fucking wench. You have no idea� no clue. In your judgment, you excuse him as a throwaway�useless� But you don�t know.. I hate you. HATE. Some of us can cope�in varying degrees� to varying circumstances. You commit errors� and you handle them as well as you know how-- Bitch. You, nor even I, just do not KNOW. The simple fact that you were not born under his very skin� does NOT make you smarter� Oh god, to not have something so �technical� as a home� to not feel safe� To see your mother suffer a nervous breakdown� You just don�t know� -Why. You fucking whore. ************************************ My stop came� I looked over, to my beloved lady in red� And when I caught her stare, I vehemently cleaned my snot�like a blatant two year old�across the bare of my hand and arm� To then use the top of my shirt, to wipe off the spare� I checked my wallet� uggghhh� it might as well have been February again� I got up and just as the doors opened�I handed him the folded five dollar bill� � the quivered smirk off his face� returned once more. And he gave me a wink� I smiled. I then walked out of the train� stopped and turned. I had to see my dear lady in red, once more. Through the side window, I caught her returning stare� And with a proper salute� Gave her the friendly �middle� reminder, as the train gave away and rolled on� I hate you.
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