The Man Stood Leaning...
The man stood leaning against the subway car doors all calm and collected.
He got off at the next stop, a reason for his arrogance. The doors closed
and we were off, myself, the train and the people. Of course, how could
I say we when I didn't know a single soul. The man at the door was gone
before I knew it, and so is the man sitting right in front of me. Dark shades,
Buggs Bunny on his chest, a walkman, running shoes and a bag. The kind of
bag that could hold a portable computer. He is as gone as the other. I don't
know a thing about him. Is he human or is he animal? Shaved head. I still
don't know. I look closer at him with quick glimpses. A change in pose,
but he fades away. A little pudgy. Fades away. Quiet. But so is everyone
else, everyone who is alone, but all together on the train. No one makes
eye contact, no one communicates communication. Sometimes I wish something
crazy would happen on the train, something exciting but non-threatening.
Something that would provoke communication. Shades don't help, neither does
a walkman. Maybe I do know that guy. Maybe he's that guy who is afraid to
make eye contact? Maybe he fears communication and eliminates it from his
vocabulary by drowning out the sounds words make? A loud horn. His shades
are up, he looks around. Maybe he just thinks he's cool, but can't communicate
it well. I suppose what's up doc is not long hand. A simple mistake, logically
reasonable. He's eating his shades. I have no problem with people who choose
to put things in their mouths, but when I hear the contact between teeth
and thing I begin to feel like a fly on the wall moments away from throwing
up. Trying to make an exit but the doors are closed and we are in motion,
the train is still moving. Some more loud horns and rhetoric over the P.A..
The shades are back on, the man is in business. He taps his foot to the
clack of the train, no, to the beat of the music. I don't like him.
Contributed by:
Andre Russell
<ear28@hotmail.com>
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