THE MORNING COMMUTE: THE INTERNALIZATION CANNOT CONTINUE
Half an hour subway delays, a woman listening to techno-core, a Lenny Kravits look-a-like, one hour before you usually wake up because your therapist wants to squeeze in a session before group therapy; the train is inching along like a millipede and uptown service has stopped. You use the emergency exit to walk to the front car to leave the train. The subway station looks like a cesarean birth. You walk one mile north and a half mile east to get to therapy, just to leave after 20 minutes to trek back to Brooklyn, past the Hilton Hotel that’s opposite Radio City Music Hall, the very junction where he told you it wasn’t like that, the day before your sister told you she was going to marry her cheating boyfriend and in your mind the two events are still inseparable. You depart the crowded rush hour train and you can’t hold in your fart any longer.
Invitation to a Beheading