Drop your bag atop my feet, jabber jabber to my right, coughing snorting to my left, popping gum across the aisle daring me to say a word.  Clap clap clap, clap clap clap clap, until her hands are sore while others read and some do snore.  Suddenly like a crazed cuckoo, head reared back she screeches like a wounded hound; please stand clear of the closing doors, Shades of Hades beneath the ground.

The music blare its tinny whine from a box for personal time, a rush of bodies fill the place her stare is fixed upon a space. No no no you cannot fit, be reasonable my eyes insist.  Dis-regarding my unspoken wish my furrowed brow and anguished look, Squash! she is in, I groan and press against the rail, Oh dam! Shades of Amistad, my spirit pales. Stand clear of the closing doors. Next stop, Wall Street.

(5.30.2003)