The train wasn’t at the platform at 7:57 AM like it should have been but I heard it lurking around the corner, lurching it’s head forward, looking for me. I tapped my left foot, contained in a brown Italian leather shoe from Ermenegildo Zegna. I clutched at my black Tumi attache which held a book written by Franz Kafka. Today, I felt exceptionally handsome in a navy blue Valentino wool-blend suit with a two button closure and center vent. The bottom part of the sleeve on my Giorgio Armani shirt was held together by Tiffany cuff links. The only thing that bothered me was my haircut which was rather expensive considering the fact that I had to keep checking it every time I caught my own reflection in a passing window. The cordless Apple headphones in my ears weren’t playing any music. I stepped from the platform onto the train at 8:03 AM-six minutes late.
I sat down and reached into the Tumi attache for my book. I thought about the dry cleaning I had to pick up later. I thought about if I should work out chest or back at the gym that night. I thought about my receptionist’s ass. I thought about French existentialism and how French writers always have to bitch about how they aren’t feeling good. I thought about my girlfriend’s parents. I thought about if writing could ever stand on it’s own or if it was only good if it was tied to some socio-historical context. I thought about homework I have to do later. I thought about how I want a better job. I thought about the new Adidas that just came out and how I would go about getting a pair. I thought about how I should take myself more seriously. I compared myself to others. I opened my book.
The train stopped abruptly and the lights began to flash. The train was empty. I couldn’t remember if their were people in it when I got on. I looked up and saw a big juicy rat sitting on the bench across from me. It just sat there, aloof, kind of staring at me. The lights flashed and the train began to creep forward again. The Latino man standing next to me dropped his grocery bag-an apple rolled out of it and hit a woman’s foot. She looked down and picked it up as if she wanted to take a bite. I looked down at my book and saw the words:
‘Give it up! Give it up!’