Sometimes Homeless People Are Just The Enemies You Haven't Met Yet

I realize that I have been compulsively blogging for the last few days, but I guess if stories have to be told, it is your duty to tell them. I had kind of a rough night. The subway system is always jacked up over the weekends, because they use the time to do construction. As I entered the subway station, I excitedly saw that the train was already sitting on the 2/3 track. I ran to get in, without looking at the numbers on the train. I had faith that because it was the 2/3 track, the 2/3 train would be there. In retrospect, that exhibited naive, misguided trust in the Metropolitan Transit Authority. I boarded and started eavesdropping on a kid in a yarmulke with an Amy Winehouse vocabulary.

My spying was a fatal error in this case, however, because I didn’t notice for several stops that I was on a 1 Train, not a 2 or 3. Apparently it was running on the 2/3 track because of construction. It is not surprising that I didn’t notice, because I’m a girl who didn’t notice on two separate occasions that someone did not have an arm. I shared a hotel room with one of them for ten days and I probably didn’t notice the missing limb until Day 8. If you are uncomfortable with any aspects of your appearance, I am the person to hang out with.

To get to my house I had to backtrack to where I had started, which I took in stride. That is because I didn’t realize what I would encounter once I got on the correct train. I transferred and minded my own business this time. On entering I saw a homeless woman out cold, taking up a good portion of a fairly large bench. At first I thought that she was deceased, but eventually I could tell that she was breathing. I sat down across from her. After several moments of deep slumber, she started to shake and opened her eyes. She looked straight into my eyes and said, “Don’t make me go over there and beat you, you hear?” And then she fell back into a peaceful slumber.