No blog is complete without at least one mention of a train commute episode

     While I was on the train trying to focus on both my music and book simultaneously, a portly fellow with a large pinkie ring was yelling into the phone for at least fifteen minutes. It was the kind of language that made even the most foul-mouthed riders uncomfortable. He was either in the process of putting on a hit or fixing someone’s internet connection. Everyone was anxious, feeling that they inadvertently became witnesses to some mob-related activity and all eyes were on the ground (as if a person automatically becomes invisible if his eyes are cast downward). The scene looked worse then when beggars walk around demanding cash and/or food. Even if they come right into your face you just look down as hard as you can and they will assume you’re deaf and move on. I happened to be one of the unfortunate souls in that cart. My eyes probably burned a hole through page 95 of my book. You can imagine my surprise (along with everyone else’s) when the Brando wannabe finally said: “Alright mom, I’ll talk to you later” and hung up.