Not Exactly a Sentimental Journey -- Another Commute Story, Short and Sweet, Er...Sour

I'm one of those poor saps standing at the back of a long line in a urine scented subway station waiting for my train and its god awful hot in the station which emphasizes the smell as if that's necessary. And my back aches and I had a long work day and it's only Monday and I'm living the life I'd so long been happy not to. A schmuck grinding from day to day with the shoves and the pushes and the waits and the delays and the frustrations and the wrenching feeling that there is so much better out there and so why am I racing rats? How long before I can begin the phase of my life in which I spend my days sitting in cafes and walking on beaches and going everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Question mark.

On the train at long blessed last and with a seat and can start to feel human though barely, then the train stops at a station and doesn’t leave. Stop thanking me for my patience of which I have none and after forever the train finally moves again.

Out of the station assaulted by cigarette smoke and obnoxious teens and aggressive panhandlers and more urine odors while my ears are assaulted by car horns and sirens and profanity and loud music blasting out of cars and where is that beach and where is that comfort of just being and not having to react and be on guard and disgusted.

And now I stand in another interminable line in a grocery store after dodging fellow shoppers in clogged narrow aisles. And the person behind me jostles my backpack and her and her partner joke about it and offer a weak apology, they laugh some more and make idiotic comments that they pretend are funny and I want to shoot them in their flapping mouths. They have matching dyed hair and nose rings and clothes bought in a thrift store designed not to match and they keep laughing at each others stupid comments and the line is taking forever because of a faulty register and finally I’m out and on my way home and the last part of my journey is pleasant enough except for how goddamned tired I am and desperate just to sit in a chair and recline.

Which is what I do. Blessed Mary and I’m not even Catholic far from it. But I am home.