Tired.

It’s dark and there are only orbs lining the path. White lights just there. And then there is darkness and you hope the driver knows his way. The steward at the front who directs and stops, opens and closes doors, the train programmed on the same route forever and always. The orbs come back and give you hope and safety. Your arm is growing sticky as it rests on the plastic window sill. You kick the cider cans deep underneath the chair because the sickly sweet is too much for you right now. The rumble of the train on tracks reverb. You hope that your headphones are good enough to block it out. It’s darkness again outside. You look out the window and there’s your face. The glasses are off as you have your over-ear headphones on and you get worried that they will crush them and alter their shape and you also want to rest your eyes. No more HD just blur with the occasional clarity. Like the bags under your eyes, they appear very clear in the reflection of the window, how they streak, from a light touch to entrenched, rooted, broad in the skin. Your nose is very wonky too. At the top it suggests one way and then goes the other like a Milner-Skudder sidestep. Your lower lip is fat and when you close your mouth it looks gargantuan as if it is trying to swallow your top lip. Big blowjob lips. You worry about your hairline, it will go one day and you hope it isn’t a day before 45. More than enough time to get yourself in order, no longer needing to rely on your looks and blowjob lips for progression in career and for love. Then I can just give up caring I suppose. See it say it sorted. You can still hear the train on the tracks and not much else. Drunks talk the talk of drunks. Loners read or watch or text or go on Adult Network. Or the app that the coked out Recruitment worker said was legit for quality escorts that night sometime ago. It’s still dark outside and I don’t know where I am and when I’ll be back. I hope it will be soon.