the train

It's hard to manufacture content. Nothing interesting happens most days. I go to work. I read stuff. I worry about the end of the world. I have a drink. I go to bed. This is most days.

On other days, I play country music on my guitar in the train and endure what seems to me are the suspicious gazes of passers-by. I may be singing "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry", and that is not a song that tends to draw people in. The change in the guitar case becomes a gesture of pity.

Later I buy rice and beans at the spanish restaurant and the 99-cent cans of Coors.

When I wake up I feel heavy and sick, and it takes at least two cups of coffee to jumpstart me, but this leaves me jittery.

I was on the L train this afternoon on my way into Manhattan for reasons I've forgotten. A tiny mexican woman squeezed into the seat next to mine, and promptly fell asleep. She must have been exhausted, god only knows how hard some of these people work. She was mortally embarrassed when her head hit my shoulder, she just couldn't keep it up. I told her de nada, don't worry. I wished I could have offered her my shoulder for as long she needed it.