I am rather in an unphased state this morning due to the events of last night (which shall not be disclosed). My cousin was visiting for the weekend; we had a good time. This morning was the time when she unfortunately had to depart. After dropping her off at the train, I walked towards the exit as I fumbled with my iPod. I finally untangled all the earphone wires to discover that the iPod had run out of its goodness known as "battery power". I had expected to alienate myself on the subway (which is rather easy to do, despite it being such a public location) with the aid of my iPod. However, it looked as if I would have to non-chalantly isolate myself without help -- this would be somewhat difficult.
I approached to the token booth. Just one, please. I slipped my twenty dollar bill under the slot and anticipated the arrival of a small, shiny copper equivalent of $1.25. I received my change, glanced through it to make sure it was correct, and headed through the turnstile. I think I only have $17.75 in my hand. Perhaps I just cannot see the other dollar. Wait, twenty dollars minus one twenty-five equal eighteen seventy-five, right?
I must have self-consciously questioned myself and my math skills at least ten times. It was not until I stepped onto the subway car that I was sure I had been cunningly deprived of my deserved dollar (I'm sure my grandparents worked very hard for the twenty dollar bill they gave to me). By the time I took a seat, my apathy had consumed me and the robbery consequently eluded me. I have tons of work I have not even thought about the whole weekend. I need to finish my short story. Everyone in the train is looking at me in a strange way. They must be judging me, because, of course, that is the favorite pastime of most frequent subway riders. Who did they think I was? I didn't care.
I stared out through the plexi-glass to my right, through the minor grime which has become part of the translucent (previously transparent) window. I must augment and concrete my short story -- I need an anecdote filled with antique imagery. Perhaps a trip to the woods and the discovery of a nearly dilapidated house would be a nice touch. Is that insipid, though?
"Yeah, that seems a bit cheap".
Did I just open my mouth and vocally pronounce each of those words? I glanced around -- I encountered a few awkward visages. Oh no. I was the crazy individual on the train. The dubious character who is obviously spaced out and talking to himself out loud. Instead of feeling empathy for all the crackheads I usually observe, I just felt strangely embarrased. My stop was next -- wonderful.
The subway is a great place for the creative process and a terrible place to realize that you are a moron.