“I watch my chances of returning the scarf tick away with the second hand of the large black clock above the elevators. By the time I get to the Number 1 train at Penn Station, it’s almost 6:30. I squeeze into a seat next to a nun and try not to look at the drunk across from me with his fly open. And if that’s not revolting enough, it appears that he isn’t wearing any underwear, and I find myself continuously glancing at his penis, wondering exactly which part I’m looking at. I force myself to l...ook above him at the array of posters advertising birth control, AIDS, drug addiction, moisturizer, littering, and the Gap. Underneath the birth control ad, someone has scribbled “Murdering Cunt” in red paint. I wonder if the nun was doing her rosary and if her presence was a sign from the Saints that they’re going to punish me for not returning the scarf. I make a mental note to go to confession. The train screeches to a stop at 42nd Street, and more sardines cram themselves into the can.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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