Friday, May 30, 2008

17.18 Eleven Minutes Late
A SuperSized lady asks if the seat beside me is free.
It is, and as she slides into it I'm grateful that the arm rest is already down as, if it were not, she'd sure as eggs be slipping over into my seat too.

"I'm sorry" she announces "I'm really pissed."
I laugh; I mean we've all been really pissed on the train, right?

"I'm really, really pissed"
This time I smile, a bit weakly. It's going to be a long fifteen minutes.

"I'm sorry"
I concentrate really hard on getting my headphones plugged in.

She concentrates, really hard, on getting a greaseproof paper wrapped package out of her bag. She concentrates, really hard, on breathing.
Then she unwraps the package and begins to eat.
It's greasy and pink and looks like she already threw it up once.
The smell from it begins to permeate the carriage.

I concentrate really hard on looking the other way and taking shallow breaths.

She pauses and rests her head on the seat in front.
Bits of food are on her shirt, in her hair, on her fingers.
She sits up, swallows a few times, crosses herself and continues eating.

I try not to look. Or breathe.

After about fourteen hours the train begins to slow and she begins to gather herself for the monumental effort of holding it together long enough to get home.

I still feel sick.

Narrow Stairs - Death Cab For Cutie


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