a beautiful moment
this is a beautiful moment.
a beautiful moment that smells of lightly burnt rubber and whiskey piss.
a beautiful moment of standing and waiting.
on the platform.
standing and waiting.
i don't know the time.
somewhere between 1:15 to 2am, maybe.
i know i left the bar at 1:15.
but ...
no watch on my wrist.
cell phone gets no signal.
no clocks on the wall.
no definite time.
it is so late it is early.
the hour has emptied out the subway system.
there are only four other people waiting on the same platform as me.
two of them are a couple.
they hold hands and kiss and do couple things.
the other one is alone.
like me.
she has an ipod, headphones plugged in, dead expression on her face.
gives a half hearted head shake every now and then.
a passive listener.
and me,
i'm passively watching.
i look over the edge of the platform, down to the rails.
smile at the electric rail. the third one.
the infamous one.
the rail men die on.
there are rats down there.
they like these quiet hours. use them to their full advantage.
running, running, busy little rats.
sniffing at torn mcdonald's soda cups. chewing stale popcorn. ignoring candy wrappers.
you seem some interesting trash down there.
little bits of lives, strewn away.
ready and headed for the gutter.
what the rat's don't get, anyway.
i've learned that watching rats is a way to forecast when a train will arrive.
the big eyed whiskersnouts will run off the track the minute they feel a train approaching.
it's the vibrations.
the big eyed whiskersnouts feel them in their feet.
noise of
(scurryscurry)
and as they scurry away
i scurry forward,
waiting for the sleek train to come take me home.
biographical sketches on late night travelers
baby's momma
across the tracks is a woman with a baby in a stroller.
she isn't looking at it, and it isn't looking at her.
the mother has on large gold earrings.
i can see them from here.
doorknockers. literally.
(do they hurt, i wonder?)
she looks bored. tired.
unprepared to be a mom.
the couple
he is gross.
fat.
not gross because he is fat, but gross because he is acting like a swine would.
kissing his girlfriend.
fondling his girlfriend.
shaking off her shy giggles and coy acts of pulling away from him.
he sees me looking and we make eye contact for a moment.
unexpectedly.
and then he goes back to his girlfriend, only rougher this time.
they sit near me the train ride back to brooklyn.
i catch him looking at me several times and i want to say -- look at your girlfriend instead, mister --
but i don't.
because this is new york. because it's late at night. because, even though i find their actions repulsive, we're bretheren
of the late hour.
old man
he is sleeping with a newspaper over his head.
there is no clearer or more effective method of saying:
leave me alone.
drunk europeans
loud.
arrogant.
all male.
insists the american subway system is dumb because they can't figure out how it operates.
i don't bother trying to explain.
he has paint on his pants
he has a strong face. bold features.
handsome.
he looks like an old aztec god of some sort.
striking.
faintly dangerous.
his hair is graying.
a single golden wedding band on the proper hand.
crucifix on a small delicate chain around his neck.
chapped hands.
closed eyes.
empty paint splattered bucket by his feet.
wearing pants to match.
he wakes up right before his stop.
magical timing.
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