I met a man on the train and we talked about flooded
tunnels. What he would do in the
event – what I would do in the event.
This man imagined his pickled liver as an emergency floatation device.
He told me that his drinking drove off his beautiful wife and innocent children
(a boy and a girl). He called his
daughter “the whispering angel.” He believed that his liver had prepared him to
survive the worst of life because it allowed him to visit the worst of himself
upon other lives. I considered what he said – it had a strange logic to
it. While I was corralling my thoughts
to counter his point with my own - I realized this dude reeked; and I was the
only other person in the subway car.
Every other rider had switched in between stops- and no one else had
been getting on. He kept talking
and I eventually got home, but not before I changed cars. I didn’t even excuse myself – I just
walked away from the guy when we pulled into a station. Maybe I helped to make
that liver more buoyant? When I got home I woke my wife and told her what this
guy said. And she told me to sleep
on the couch. “Why baby,” I asked. “Because dear…you fucking smell.”
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