Drantis

Here I am. stopped in the middle of a highway. Among the tumbleweed of these training manuals people call magazines. The cold still stings. It’s like these effin’ pigeons driving shopping carts… who needs flying? The trains converged when I saw your face. Another someone. My train moved and then yours caught up. Blurring metal cutting past my sight. beam, support, post, etc. Seems subways are places where you are judged by looks alone. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not your average New Yorker. But, I’ve learned their ways. ’Scrapers are the only mirrors large enough to contain them. It ended then. A s