Killer Kiwi #8
Missed Connections
N train: When the doors opened at Union Square you rushed in, red minidress, knocking over an old woman trying to get out. I was the bearded man you stepped on making for the last seat, which you beat out a pregnant woman for. I think I’m in love with you. Call soon.
1 train: At South Ferry you wore a tinfoil bonnet and yelled that the Chinese were selling our babies to the aliens. I know! Call me, but from a pay phone, because they’re always listening.
6 train: You were a three person subway mariachi band. You played “La Paloma” con gusto as the train lurched left and right. You made five whole bucks, and my heart stood still. Because a mariachi band needs four! Call, and let my guitarrón join us all in harmony and shiny quarters from tourists. Les espero.
Staten Island Railway: I passed you getting off the train at New Dorp. You’re 15 or so, pissed off look, pack of cheap cigarettes, yelling cuss words. Me too! Let’s get together and stand in the food court for six hours.
E train: You were selling socks, but you left the car too early. I need socks! Come back!
LIRR: I passed you on the platform and you’re wearing my fucking Jets jacket that got stolen last week. My girlfriend bought that for me, you fucking douchebag. Call me up so you can get the ass kicking of your life.
M2 bus: You were a Japanese tourist. I was also a Japanese tourist. You had a Mets cap. I had a Yankees cap. You wore tight jean shorts. I did too. You had a disposable camera. I had a camera phone. You had a FAO Schwarz bag. I had a Bloomingdale’s bag. You had your nose pressed against the window. I only had eyes for you. Call me. There’s someone special and unique for everyone.
N train: When the doors opened at Union Square you rushed in, red minidress, knocking over an old woman trying to get out. I was the bearded man you stepped on making for the last seat, which you beat out a pregnant woman for. I think I’m in love with you. Call soon.
1 train: At South Ferry you wore a tinfoil bonnet and yelled that the Chinese were selling our babies to the aliens. I know! Call me, but from a pay phone, because they’re always listening.
6 train: You were a three person subway mariachi band. You played “La Paloma” con gusto as the train lurched left and right. You made five whole bucks, and my heart stood still. Because a mariachi band needs four! Call, and let my guitarrón join us all in harmony and shiny quarters from tourists. Les espero.
Staten Island Railway: I passed you getting off the train at New Dorp. You’re 15 or so, pissed off look, pack of cheap cigarettes, yelling cuss words. Me too! Let’s get together and stand in the food court for six hours.
E train: You were selling socks, but you left the car too early. I need socks! Come back!
LIRR: I passed you on the platform and you’re wearing my fucking Jets jacket that got stolen last week. My girlfriend bought that for me, you fucking douchebag. Call me up so you can get the ass kicking of your life.
M2 bus: You were a Japanese tourist. I was also a Japanese tourist. You had a Mets cap. I had a Yankees cap. You wore tight jean shorts. I did too. You had a disposable camera. I had a camera phone. You had a FAO Schwarz bag. I had a Bloomingdale’s bag. You had your nose pressed against the window. I only had eyes for you. Call me. There’s someone special and unique for everyone.
posted by Anonymous at 9:02 AM
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