Writer - Marty McGowan
Wow. Just made it. Doors almost snapped my butt off. Didn’t shave. Just threw these clothes on. No Breakfast. Maybe get a donut before class. Damn alarm clock! Well maybe I should learn to set it. AM and PM are different.
Really out of breath. Quite a sprint to catch this subway car. Pretty full of course. Should clear out some the next two stops. Probably get a window seat then.
Some tense day this will be. Three finals and only two I’m ready for. Hope I can fake the psyche one. Just don’t be definitions. Unless it’s multiple choice. My psyche paper was a B+. All I need is a C . . .
That old lady is gathering her stuff. What can she carry in that bag? Certainly not make up. That’s mean, Randall, mean. She’s an old lady, not like that blonde hottie standing in the aisle. With that bod she doesn’t need much make up. Let’s get a better look. I’m not gasping any more. Get out of this doorway and into the aisle. Maybe sit next to hottie. If the old bag gets moving.
That old man is looking at me funny. Smiling. Old and gay? Never know. There was that guy in the bar last month said he wanted to photograph me, in the nude. Yeah. Right. This old guy looks like money.
Jeez, he’s really looking me over. Ha, he saw me. Looked away. But he’s still watching me in the window reflection. Seems undecided about something. Ignoring his open magazine. Suppose he thinks I’m a hottie? Might be a triangle here if blondie . . . He’s looking again! Damn! Should I say something? What? No law against looking. Is it a compliment? A strange one. Hey, the hottie just gave me the once over. She’s smiling too. I must be ambisextrous to get such attention. Maybe skip shaving more often. Whiskers, a babe magnet?
Ah, an open seat. People shuffling around. Just sit and get out of the way. Course now the old gay is looking right at me across the aisle. Looks a bit puzzled. Thinking it over? Well, I hope so. From here I can watch Hottie at least. Still smiling.
Oh, oh, Gay Guy is stashing his magazine in his brief case. Must be his stop next. Getting up. There! A glance at me. Hell, do I hit him if he propositions me? What can he do on a subway train anyway?
Good, he’s passing me. Whoa! What? He’s bending down? To kiss me? He’s gonna get a punch . . .
“Young man, you might want to check your zipper.”