There is a man who stands outside my subway stop every morning. He stands and forces cheep tawdry newspapers on people. He flings them in your face and most people just take them, being caught off guard, and throw them away at the bottom of the steps, before getting on the train. I have never seen someone take on one the train, open it, and begin perusing the halftone nightmare. Not once. If I did witness such an event, I would likely, get out of my seat and slap them sixteen times. I've been passing this man every morning for three weeks now. Never once even gesturing awkwardly as if I might take one, then quickly withdrawing. Never making eye contact, no never.
Today he hit me with it.
There is no doubt in my mind that he meant to. He said "take". Then hit me with it, squah in the gut. Bastard. I wanted to push him down the stairs. I wanted to see his head smash on the concrete steps below him. His teeth knocked out, his hair matted with blood. A helpless whimper and gurgle. Instead, I kept going. Down stairs. Caught my train. Opened my book, tried to read the lines, pretended to read the lines, but really, truly little darlings, I just fantasized about said violence. Fucking fucktard.
and now, ladies and germs, its time for a non sequitur . . .
I don't know how many people know this, I certainly didn't. There are fireflies in Queens. I see them every night.