Subway Observations & Questions & Conclusion

His nose hair curls from one nostril to the other, like a nose ring on a bull. Is he dangerous? Is that what his wife and mother use to control him, to keep him from romping around the house and running into the china cabinet? And where does it start? And where does it end? Maybe it's infinite, a hair eating its own booger-y root. I do not want to be this close to this man.
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City Music

I do not listen to my iPod outside because I prefer the natural music of the city: the way people talk, the languages they use, the footsteps behind me (oh-god-oh-god-oh-god), the traffic and the machinery, the bus stop recordings -- only the east/west bus speaks. The city's music delights my ear. I can't download it. In the future I'll be able to download it, you know, when I'm old and crippled. And I'll listen to it and think about this day and ask--

"Is this Wednesday, dear?"

She'll smile. "No, dear. It's Sunday."

"Is this late March, dear?"

"Time for your pill, dear."
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Oh

"Will something into existence."

"No. Why?"

"Because otherwise those who've known you -- after you've died -- will have no way to remember you when they're drinking their old age away alone."

"Oh."
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