Tuesday, February 21, 2012


Seen on the Brown Line to the Loop at about 11:45 p.m., February 20th, 2012 

Sometimes we still can’t believe you had the gall to ban us indoors. You drink alcohol all the time, poisoning your precious livers, but for some reason we’re worse than that. And you have to admit it’s less fun now. Don’t the bars seem sad, sticky, and desperate without our sting in your eyes, transforming boring people into much more tempting prospects?

You go ahead and suffer. We’re just fine. Those of us that were left twisted ourselves together into one entity, a man, a far superior man. We see you admiring our rich, gray coat, and the gray cashmere scarf that strangles our throat so softly. The pallor of our cheeks is kind of sexy, isn’t it? We bet you want to remove our gray fedora and run your hands all over our chemo-bald head. If you’re lucky, maybe we’ll squeeze the small of your back with our skeletal fingers, or rasp sweet denials into your ear. Who did you say was secondhand? 

Last night everything just felt a little off. I went swing dancing at Fizz, and the room was way too hot, and the band was way too loud. So I left earlier than normal, but it was eerily quiet outside. So then this man who I have dubbed Sly was on the train, and I don't think I was staring at him a lot (I try not to when I write stories about people). But then when I got off the train, he looked RIGHT AT ME, which was quite unexpected, and when I turned around this other random guy getting on the train said, "By the way, you look very nice this evening." As if I had been having a conversation with him, which I obviously had not been. It kind of freaked me out. I was glad to get into bed. That's my story.

Writing Group tonight. Hooray!

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