ON A TRAIN BACK TO MICHIGAN
A young blond in denim cut-offs slept with her knees to her chest. Doubting her consciousness, I took my time eyeing the soft skin of her inner thighs. Where is she going? I asked myself. And why is she alone?
I considered excusing myself to the bathroom to quickly jack-off, but KT called to tell me she had a dream about ketchup packets – about a movie about ketchup packets, starring Michael Rappaport and a girl KT and I graduated high school with, a girl whose name I knew but whose face I didn't. At first, I was jealous. I wished that the dream had been mine. Surely, I would have remembered more detail.
Not having noticed that the young blond was awake, I resumed staring at her bared flesh until she awkwardly threw a thin wool blanket over her ass and pretended to go back to sleep.
I had spent the weekend back home in the city that both seduced and disgusted me with her familiarity. When it was time to leave, I stepped onto the train weighing 10 pounds more than when I first arrived. The sun was high and hot. Alcohol and fried cheese seeped through my pores.
Dancing in Odessa