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Author: raj kulkarni
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this is clark street. next stop wall street. transfers to the...
a garbled voice crackles off into inaudibility.
the awaiting throng on the platform seems scarred and disfigured through the scratched surfaces of the doors that at first hesitate and then begrudgingly part.
eyes flood the car.
countless shades and shapes darting about in an unfocused frenzy as they scan the aisles for the seats left vacant by recently but not-so-dearly departed.
the car resumes its rumble down the rails as eyes set out to occupy themselves until the next stop.
possessing neither the strength nor the inclination to prop up drooping lids any longer and drifting guardedly into rustled slumber.
furtively surveying the scene while avoiding direct contact. clumsily averting stolen glances when caught in the act.
finding vertically, horizontally, diagonally hidden words in jumbled puzzle books and losing themselves entirely in the covers of dime-store romance novels.
reflecting distorted corneas in the concave circus-mirror contours of the chrome poles in the center of the car's cluttered corridor.
tracing declarations of love and identity etched in the multicolored terrain of fiberglass seats and tattooed flesh.
furrowed brows perusing the pink pages of the financial times while casting suspicious glares before reassuring themselves that leather attaches are safely nestled between shiny wingtips.
escaping into the panels overhead. visualising themselves on the sunset beaches of the retirement plan advertisement. taking solace in dr. zizmor's glazed gaze. a pair of dilated pupils in the car and another in the blue jeans ad above staring vacantly into each other.
absolving themselves by not seeing teary, bloodshot apparitions who beg desperately and futilely for glimpses and tokens of compassion.
lines of sight momentarily intersecting each other at acute, geometric angles before fading into infinite, empty space.
images, memories, dreams, realities blending into a blinding flurry of motion and light like the world racing by in the window.
the car screeches in excruciating agony before lurching to a halt.
This is wall street. next stop fulton street. transfers to the...
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