Sometimes I like to write you these emails on my commute as a coping mechanism. I grow weary of actually existing in the space and time of the commute on the A train.
I walked on and the guy who got on before me just stopped right when he stepped in and looked around like a lost child.
As I was walking through Jay St-Metrotech to get to the A train some dickhead was actively lighting up his cigarillo. I stared at him as he blew smoke in my face. "You can't smoke down here, man." I said. Nobody cared. Nobody else wants to confront him. There are no police or MTA officials. I'm not going to get in a fight with the guy, because he'd probably knife me and shove me on the tracks. And since, as I already stated, there were no police, MTA officials, or rule-caring humans around, he'd have gotten away with it.
I suppose someone would have started looking for me when I didn't show up for work today. But would they think to look for me bleeding out on the tracks of the F train at Jay St-Metrotech?!
If I ever go missing, please tell detectives to look there. Hopefully a Debra Messing-type will be on the case and she'll believe you because you're smart and intuitive. She'll trust you and you'll solve my murder! You can tell her "she probably told someone they couldn't smoke in the subway station..." They'll fill in the details from there.
Now I'm waiting at 14th at for the C or E that may or may not come. There are no signs indicating it won't be here, but it might be one of those NY native things where people just know what weekends they don't run local; only the cool kids know for sure. The rest of us are left to wait around with our dicks in our hands.
I hope you're having a lovely day.
