madermouse's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A typical day April 22nd, 2004 A swaying man pees on a tree at 8:02am. A large woman with too much lipstick rattles on about how �the state took 4 of her kids� 10 years ago but she�s gonna get them back as soon as she finds a job. I watch her flag down a black guy who follows her into the bushes. They don't look like friends. The train comes right on time. We pile on and stand shoulder to shoulder. I touch arms with a guy who smells like an ashtray, a bottle of gin, and rotten fish. He fingers his bag of crinkling �Sunchips� and then drops a few on the floor. He crushes them under his caked boots and talks with his mouth full. His teeth are brown like his boots.
A Russian man behind me speaks on his cell phone in sharp breaks and starts. His bad breath clouds me. I take two steps to the right and press myself against the door. The train stops. The Hare Krishna kids line up against the courthouse wall, drumming and singing. A woman stands in her chef�s uniform, tapping her toe to the beat. A mangy street kid littered with piercings holds the door open until it jams. An alarm goes off. He lets go and laughs. The train lurches forward. A business man spills coffee down his raincoat and mops it up with his New York Times. At the next stop, 30 five year olds and 4 adults get on. The cacophony of giggling and chatter washes over me in energetic waves. The adults look frazzled. The children fill in all the spaces between our legs like dried beans. Their sounds escalate each time the train turns a corner, stops, loads a wheelchair, goes over a bridge, passes a policeman on horseback. They reach the museum, spill out onto the sidewalk, then meander down the pavement like a colorful river. Next stop is mine. The doors open to my right. Three steps off and I watch my connecting bus zoom away. I hear my boss�s voice saying �We have a meeting tomorrow morning so don�t be late.� I have a 15 minute wait. Make that 17 minutes and 45 seconds. I hop on the 19 Woodstock and make my way to the back. Two high school kids get on and start rapping, freestyle. One lays down a beat with his mouth. The other pulls words from the scenery as it flashes by our windows. A Chinese woman points at them and yells something in Chinese. Her face looks angry. They make the ride easy, and I walk the rest of the way to work wishing I could rap. I walk in, making excuses in front of our guests. My boss glares. It�s a typical morning. 3:43 p.m. - April 22, 2004 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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