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Thoughts From The 1 Train. (Happy Independence)

I hate my sandals.

It’s so easy to be agitated underground. And the air is wet.

Metal screams and the rats and the rich are restless alike.

Fireworks this weekend.

Ow.
Fuck Whole Foods.
I don’t mean that.

The woman across from me — Sketchers, polyester blazer — coughs repeatedly and has green hair but probably not on purpose.

The Showtime boys seem lackluster today.

I don’t even mind the anonymous drip on my arm. That much.

I hate my sandals.