Thursday Morning Commute

My morning sucked. I got up on time, but somehow failed to make the train. It was 8:44 when I looked at the clock, and I still wasn't wearing trousers (I take the 8:58 train). Luckily, there is a train about 20 mins later which is also an express. I also forgot my hat. My ears were cold. I skipped breakfast. Luckily, I always pack a protein bar in my bag (for those playing at home, you'll be able to figure out the exact contents of my bag at any given moment by the clues I will leave in my journal. It's a heavy bag.), but it's no substitute for real food.

I hop on the train, and take the CTS, after I figure out where in the hell this other fellow will be sitting (he just got on as well, and had all his crap laid out in all five seats). I sit down and read my Weekly (SEAites: think "The Stranger" NYCites: think "The Village Voice". Sadly, it's not as good as either.). Suddenly, the guy (in his 50s, doesn't have a job, as he's "going into the city for an interview") has a spasm. It's the "my phone just went off and scared the shit out of me" spasm my former flatmate used to have. I don't understand why some are so high-strung. He's kinda loud, so I listen to his half of the conversation. As it turns out, it's his dope dealer. I can't believe I'm actually listening to a dope deal being set up by a desperately-wanting-to-sound-cool-to-impress-his-dealer guy in a cheap suit. What a tool.

Thursday Morning Commute

My morning sucked. I got up on time, but somehow failed to make the train. It was 8:44 when I looked at the clock, and I still wasn't wearing trousers (I take the 8:58 train). Luckily, there is a train about 20 mins later which is also an express. I also forgot my hat. My ears were cold. I skipped breakfast. Luckily, I always pack a protein bar in my bag (for those playing at home, you'll be able to figure out the exact contents of my bag at any given moment by the clues I will leave in my journal. It's a heavy bag.), but it's no substitute for real food.

I hop on the train, and take the CTS, after I figure out where in the hell this other fellow will be sitting (he just got on as well, and had all his crap laid out in all five seats). I sit down and read my Weekly (SEAites: think "The Stranger" NYCites: think "The Village Voice". Sadly, it's not as good as either.). Suddenly, the guy (in his 50s, doesn't have a job, as he's "going into the city for an interview") has a spasm. It's the "my phone just went off and scared the shit out of me" spasm my former flatmate used to have. I don't understand why some are so high-strung. He's kinda loud, so I listen to his half of the conversation. As it turns out, it's his dope dealer. I can't believe I'm actually listening to a dope deal being set up by a desperately-wanting-to-sound-cool-to-impress-his-dealer guy in a cheap suit. What a tool.