Wednesday, December 19, 2012


Seen at Fullerton station waiting for the Red Line to 95th at about 8 a.m.

Darnell leans over the edge of the platform and spits on the tracks that took his brother. He still remembers the look of Ty’s body splayed across the rails, like some sort of giant broken bug. Helpless. Grotesque.

Ty was just trying to grab his phone. It was brand new.

Darnell curses the CTA. Darnell curses the sleepy commuters. Darnell curses Ben Franklin, and Thomas Edison, and George Westinghouse, and everyone else who murdered Ty. Nothing is ever an accident. Someone is always to blame.

A sad little story today. Public Service Announcement: if you do drop something on the CTA tracks, just tell the station attendant. They have these long poles to grab things off the tracks. Don't be stupid and jump down there yourself.

Tonight is my office's holiday party. I'm looking forward to it; we're going to this restaurant called Found. Sounds yummy. Two years ago my boss got us all random grab bags, and last year he got us all Kindles. So I really don't know what to expect in that regard. Hey, I guess that means my Kindle and I are celebrating our one year anniversary. How sweet. Thanks for the stories, you trusty little e-reader. 

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