Day CCCXII

The Ride Home

     It was the slowest walk of my life, I remember praying, hoping, nobody decided to whack me with their billy club, and, somehow as I tripped out of that freaking situation, I managed to walk out of the park. Once outside, I frantically search all of my pockets for a smoke, and when I saw a girl lite up, I asked her,

     “Can ya spare one?”

     “Ain’t diz da cwaziest sheet?” She smirked as she offered me a smoke, and lit it for me.

     “Thanks!” I smiled.

     “Ya eva seen anything like diz?”

     “Na not eva.”

     “Ya best get outa hea, befo da cops come back, an staht bashing evybody,” she said as she walked off towards Broadway.

     I smiled and walked down into the subway, puffing on a smoke for the first time in a couple of months. It seems every time I tried to stop, something would pull me back for damned a smoke. But the thing about tripping is that you lose your sense of time, five minutes can seem like hours. The car was empty, and the monotonous clacketty clack of the tracks made my ride to the Bronx like an eternity. Passenger’s faces looked distorted, like Picasso works, some, sad,  horrendous, others funny, and some ugly. I’m sure some of them must have thought the same of me. The other end of the car looked as if it was miles away, and I longed for a smoke. Anyway, there was a cop in my car leaning up against the doors, and even if I had one, I wouldn’t have been able to smoke it. It was a long boring ride which took about thirty minutes, but to me it was for ever, eternity. When I got out of the subway, the first thing I did was buy a pack of smokes, and lite one up. Once home, I couldn’t sleep, and I was up half the night puffing away.