(no subject)
Nov. 1st, 2002 08:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
enteleinThere's this inbetween street where the cabbies line up to take fares, and I walk down it to the steps up to the train platform. I book it, as the sidewalk is narrow, and I don't want to have to go around people into the street, or have them have to move around me.
So I'm walking swiftly, the cold beginning to whip and pare away bits of heat emanating from me when I see fluid start to run from the wall of the parking garage this sidewalk runs against. I think the man standing there must be dumping out a bottle of something, but no, his dick is out and he's drunkenly peeing against the wall, his urine streaming down the slope to the gutter.
I am completely unfazed, and I just shrug at the homeless guy when he wheezes, "Sorry, ma'am, I just had to go."
Up on the platform I stood in the blue dark and let the cold take me. It seeped into my jacket, my polar fleece, my hands, my cheeks, my hair moved by the air, brushing my face, swishing against the nylon of the jacket, making a music like drum brushes against drumskin.
Maybe it was the cold, and only the cold, but I was very keenly aware of the platform rumbling and moving each time a train came through. I let my eyes drink in the heaviness and metal of each car as it rolled in, the impressive feeling of movement and of urgency and importance, the sterile yet welcoming green-white glow of the lights inside each car.
My neck aches right now. I wish for warmed, able hands to smooth out the muscles from my neck into my shoulders. Just five minutes, nothing more.
So I'm walking swiftly, the cold beginning to whip and pare away bits of heat emanating from me when I see fluid start to run from the wall of the parking garage this sidewalk runs against. I think the man standing there must be dumping out a bottle of something, but no, his dick is out and he's drunkenly peeing against the wall, his urine streaming down the slope to the gutter.
I am completely unfazed, and I just shrug at the homeless guy when he wheezes, "Sorry, ma'am, I just had to go."
Up on the platform I stood in the blue dark and let the cold take me. It seeped into my jacket, my polar fleece, my hands, my cheeks, my hair moved by the air, brushing my face, swishing against the nylon of the jacket, making a music like drum brushes against drumskin.
Maybe it was the cold, and only the cold, but I was very keenly aware of the platform rumbling and moving each time a train came through. I let my eyes drink in the heaviness and metal of each car as it rolled in, the impressive feeling of movement and of urgency and importance, the sterile yet welcoming green-white glow of the lights inside each car.
My neck aches right now. I wish for warmed, able hands to smooth out the muscles from my neck into my shoulders. Just five minutes, nothing more.
