SUBWAY SMOKER

Heading downtown yesterday, reading an article in the New York Times science section on electroshock and migraines. Crackhead doing the itchy funky chicken walk enters the sparsely populated car I’m in from the car in front. He’s wearing headphones and down with his mix in an exaggerated animated groove that needs to express itself to everyone around. It’s a very special feeling.

He goes out the other end of the car and stands on the platform between the trains. I smell cigarette smoke, not realizing the fucker had one lit when he walked through. I look over at him (at some point everyone looks over at him because he is a spectacle and that’s what spectacles are for) puffin’ away and really fuckin’ getting’ down, but the groove is off, it ain’t right. Maybe for him, not for us.

I Think: He is going to kill himself. Today we all get to see this guy jump from the train.

A train parallels us for a second and the rear door where Jam Man is lurking blasts open and he shares some funk, like he’s DJ’ing his brain but we can’t here the cuts. He take a hit off his fag and the door slams shut. I love reactions so I look around the car, a child and his mother are confused. We all are.

I look back over and he’s gone…