The trains were a disaster today. I mean, it wasn’t the train really, but our relationship that seemed to be failing. Miserably. Not only did I miss the first train of the day, I missed my transfer train. Then, coming home from the Nuyorican, I think I’m getting lucky. I race upstairs to get my…
“And I yell ‘fucking goddamn fuck.’ I had become a victim. She had vomited on my jeans and there was nothing I could do about it. At this point I’m boiling mad. Furious. Want to kill everything in sight. So I look over at her and glare. She’s dry-heaving at this point. Her boyfriend thing is rubbing her back and whispering sweet things, which I’m sure is really endearing and comforting to her, but I just find it to be disgusting. And so I just start imagining all the pleasant ways I could maim her. Pushing her from the subway platform, clocking her in the head with my bag, kicking her in the teeth… She vomited all the way to my stop. I’m sure she continued to vomit all the way home. Sucks for her.”
Red, I adore you.
Is it weird that I imagined you doing these things as I read them?
(Source: smallzoo)
