Monday, October 08, 2007

...on old bags

ipod? check.

undercrowded express train? check

ok no seat but at least i can zone out.

thump. what the hell? who's rolling their bag on my foot?

what the fuck?

old lady ignores me and continues to get herself situated.

the bastard lifts a toes dislodging the suitcase from his foot and then and only then does she acknowlede that she has affronted.

her response. she nods.

i'm sorry ma'am but, i already gotcha. the jig is up. you don't have to nod like "yes. i just rolled a bag over your foot". it doesn't take any frikkin' detective work to figure out that you pulled that one off. thanks for saving me the trouble of hiring colombo to solve the mystery of the old bag that left an old bag on my foot. actually, the phrase i believe you are reaching for was, "whoops", or "sorry about that". oh well.

it's sticky out today.

it'll be sticky out tomorrow.

the bastard is at the point where he gets into anything on the platform with an open door these days. just to get off the hot, sticky platform. if it was 20 percent less humid, i wouldn't have anything to bitch about this morning except how i don't have enough cartoons on my goddam ipod.

—the bastard

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