it's a respect thing. on the other side of the track, i sneak in the cigarette i haven't smoked in days. it has become a tradition. i still purchase a hearst publication and a large coffee with an inch of milk. i still get a kick out of the reflection on the window that reads the company name backwards. i still pause between pages of the magazine to stare vacuously out a rainy window on a train car that pulls me back, towards new york.
after all these years, on this return trip, i still ask myself what the hell it is that i'm doing. a long shower with the perfect water pressure and a thorough shave will do that to you. mom's deluxe moroccan shampoo and dad's humble after shave: the way to go.
i still stare out the window - but it's different this time; maybe it is dramatic, though i sincerely doubt it. maybe it is mundane, which is perhaps most likely. or maybe it is romantic, because i secretly wish it were. (doesn't everybody?) maybe it's that after all these years, i've remained so insanely patient with myself that this static gaze has become almost masturbatory. ha,
oh, it's thirty-two dollars now (to get around.)
- from Tisnart Ln, drizzling still
pillows for stomach sleepers