they’re my thoughts but my handwriting shits all over this handwriting so i know i didn’t write you a note with somebody elses hand and forget about it… right?
we all have dreams and some are lucky enough to make theirs a reality.
the least he could do is smile about it.
even just a little…
a smirk would do.
passengers. daly city train. 052611. pm.
the burnout with the duct taped headphones glancing around to make sure everybody is aware of his exaggerated head bobbing. the old lady in a ratty fur hat eating a baguette while reading a children’s guide to quilting. the fat girl in the pink and gray horizontal stripes laughing louder than her skinny friends that wear only black. the weird girl with the droopy mouth and the tote full of pillow pets who catches me every time i try to take her picture on the sly. the polite young man with the unfortunate coffee stain on his shirt who asks permission to sit in the seat beside me. the chinese man in the sean jean hoodie gripping two raw ducks wrapped in a translucent pink plastic shopping bag. the frustrated baby that wants to stand on his own feet but can’t because daddy doesn’t want him to fall down. the girl with the painted eyebrows who keeps looking at me with disinterest. the attractive man with the thinning hair and the wedding band who pretends like he doesn’t see me wink at him before i get off the train.
