Good afternoon. On the, wonderfully predictable, 3:55PM out of the City.
Before boarding, I have to walk a 1 1/2 block long trek from the entrance of the platform to the front car where I usually sit. The train I board is to my right. At about fifteen minutes before departure, an inbound train parks in the berth to my left, and all the passengers get down and make their way to the platform exit (behind me) and to street level.
Today’s disembarking gaggle was wonderful to observe as I sauntered to my desired train car. I saw about forty teenagers in various states of bare-skinned-ness sashay towards the exit, along with four different mothers, each with a single, wriggling, cantankerous and unyielding toddler, three or four sets of retirees pitying and chiding the aforementioned mothers, and three Buddhist monks in orange-ascetic homespun cloth, chanting hymns as they were nearly crushed by two bicyclists. If you were texting, you would have missed the menagerie.
Right. Perkins of Red Team is here. The formerly deceased Rebel Fighter Pilot is, like me, contemplating the gym while staring out the window. My excuse is that I have company coming for dinner this evening. My gut is pleased. My conscious is not. Nor is Perkins, who has found an similar excuse to lean on (heh), and is now getting back to his reading and market-watching. My only real thought (and this is bad, I know) is that Porkins need the gym visit more than I.
My Wagner-listening friend is here. I used to call him Nazi Ark Hunter, but I have found another co-commuter on the 4:30PM that better fits that moniker. He is eyeballing his iCrackerbot with amused interest, no doubt reading the review (with spoilers!) of the just released JJ Abrams sci-fi movie. (Since I haven’t been approached to help promote the movie, I won’t mention the name). His former boyfriend, and current Cosplay insider buddy, put a sarcastic, comedic, “Wow FX/Meh script” stamp of tacit approval, along with ideas for new Cos’ for next year’s Comicon.
A bookish but attractive blonde-redheaded woman is sitting four seats back and across the aisle. Late-twenties, glasses, perfect skin, ginger hair, sundress. She has a tall-boy Old-Style, but has a metabolism or a workout regimen to compensate. Unlike the other working stiffs in the car, she sits back-straight, like a dancer. I’m surprised a woman of obvious grace would prefer an old-man’s beer to say a craft brew or an import? Perhaps she’s a girl on a budget. I feel your pain, sister!
Dr. Jeckyl-Hyde is here. After yesterday’s celebration of the Washington Scandal fest, Hus far right personality is taking a break. His moderate personality is looking out then window and talking to himself, dissecting the arguments all around. Now the meds have kicked in and he fell asleep.
Also here are Clive Owen, Nancy Reagan, Adam Corrola, and Freddie Prinze, Sr. All are armed.