true story.

After class, I put on my sunglasses from the setting Californian sun, turn up the music and dive right into the evening rush hour commuter crowds. With Bjork blaring over my headphones, I hold on tightly to the cold metal pole of the moving train car and close my eyes. I groove to the beat, move my head in rhythm, and think of lingering psychological concepts. These thoughts, they race like shooting stars. Sometimes I open my eyes to find a tall punky guy staring at me amused, but then he turns to let some people through and hugs his skateboard closer. Other times, I am pressed against a girl's neckline, her curls in my face. Everyone around me is reading, standing, sitting, dozing, looking, thinking, breathing, squeezing. I already know when to start to pay attention, to start making my way toward the automatic doors.

I only wish I could come home to enjoy a nice minty hookah.