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Looking out the window of the subway, the headlights of the train attempt to clear the way for me. Graffiti in all kinds of colors, all kinds of curves, having their mysterious mark on this fifty-year-old underground world. I wonder to myself, “How did anyone ever make it down here with their art? The danger…the darkness.”

My vision blurs for a few, unfocused moments that really ought to have lasted longer. Hours longer.

“How did get myself down here?”

Snapping back, eyes on the window again. Eyes on me. Rarely do I ever see that sort of glare, the kind that these little eyes could burn, torment, kill with. I resort to looking down, like the rest of the strangers in this place. Maybe if I glare hard enough, I’ll be able to find hints of my stone heart crushed on the tracks.

Something’s gone bad when a five-minute public transit experience is oozing that much drama and cheese. You’re just like this word, “bad”, that I keep saying in my head, to the point where it sounds so unfamiliar. Neither of you feel real right now.

But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by the missing realness. I spent the last year and a half believing I had a happy ending waiting for me in the Philadelphia streets. So did another she.

Nothing but your West Coast honey, counting the letters in every Walgreens ad across Kennedy Boulevard. Nothing but your late-night crutch, watching the way everyone who isn’t you is walking. Nothing but your personal, silently crazy bitch, waiting and waiting and you not showing, and me finally knowing. Through a goddamn text message.

So I let my eyes back to the window, and this time I only see darkness. I don’t know what else to look at–I’ll find your cheating face in everyone and everything. Even my subconscious will fall victimized tonight, as I watch you stare into my eyes the same way I’m staring into anything stare-able today. Your right hand will be on my shoulder as you ask, “Tell me, how do people make decisions?” I’ll bury my face in your chest in this unwanted dream, waking up in a sleepy fury.

It’s a slow hour past midnight now, and I’ll tell you how people make decisions if I get to be the people. And all the people say, “Stupidly.”

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