Good morning. I’m on the 7:30AM into the City. Its a chilly day for Late May in Chicago. The NF index is 3.
The train just left the station, but the intrepid commuters, who believe that they will reach their destination faster if they were in the lead car versus a comfortable seat a few cars back, stomp through the train as if climbing Everest. If the wheezes and grunts are any indication, Suburbia needs a lot more cardio training.
I am seated in my usual spot in the second train car. My back is facing the firewall separating this half of the compartment with the center-located exit doors. I am in a “jump seat”, flaked by three other commuters and facing the travelers.
The fellow across from me and to my left is a late-thirty-something Desi fellow who reminds me of a dark complected clean shaven Will Wheaton of Star Trek TNG fame. He is well connected. His white iCrackerBot is precariously placed on his lap. The cell signal radiating from the device is slow-broiling his right testicle. He fingers that device while playing with a thin, black iNebula touch screen computer, that he balances in his left hand. All of this high powered wireless entertainment is connected to his head with a large Bluetooth enabled headset. I’ve been hearing stories nowadays. Perhaps he’s an air traffic controller on the clock?
To my left and facing the crowd with me is Tiger Woods. He’s on the phone, reading eScriptures, as part of his personal atonement and to help him get back on top of his game.
Henry Winkler, the train conductor, came by to collect fares.
Also here are Christina Aguilera, a mullet headed Chuck Norris, Chris Evans, Chris Pine, and Paula Dean. All are armed to the teeth.
When the mood takes me, I’ll post.
Happy Wednesday to you.