Passenger
A man on the train sitting ahead a few rows and across the isle talks to his friend and laughs with gusto. He’s mid fifties. His clothes, gut and hairline have seen better afternoons. He’s tired and creased. He smiles tightly and pulls his very full lips across his large teeth. His gaze strays from his buddy’s face only when females walk by. The people come stumbling from behind him from the sway of the train and he instinctively ignores all men. He senses a female of the species and his eyes quickly snap to her backside then jump down to her shoes and then back up to her bottom within a second. He doesn’t take in hair color. He doesn’t care about her blouse. Only the ass and shoes. I see his teeth when the women have on heels.
[...] hday. We were real late but it was cool. Leah listened to the iPod while on the train and did some freelance anthropology. I wrote some postcards, played with