Yesterday, right when I was about to buy my metro ticket to go to SC, this woman dressed all in white, puffy, animal fur hat that looked like a massive sea urchin, eight or nine bags, her teeth missing enamel in the center, asked me how to buy a ticket. So I showed her what buttons to press + each time it was her turn, she would take too long, the machine would beep at her, I'd hit the "need more time" option + then we'd start all over again. And then suddenly, in the middle of our tutorial, she leaned into my ear and whispered in a thick Russian accent:
--I was taken by mafioso. They drop me here, she said smiling, half in shock.
--Oh, I'm sorry, I said, not know what else to say.
Then this sketchy black dude who had been watching our entire conversation next to the pay telephone, walked towards us, circling around like he was either:
1. Checking out her loot
2. Checking to see if I was strapped
+ then he retreated into the corner again, half-staring at her bags, observing us nonchalantly. I kept thinking: --Yo, I really don't need this shit right now. I just want to get to school + read my fucking poem out loud to my poetry + composition class, come back home later, write novels + spend time in Japan + grow old with LB + our two kids. Just let me do that please.
I wished her good luck, flashed her a worried smile + then walked down to the train platform. The devastating thing is, I never saw her board the train. . .