THE SUBTERRANEAN HOMESICK NOOS

It starts like this.

It’s 6.48am and I’m sitting in a window seat of the 7am Metro-North reverse commute train weighing up my options. I’m half asleep in a stationary train in Grand Central Station. Just contemplatin’ and Noodle-atin’. As you do.

“Should I,” my internal monologue inquires. “Should I set the alarm on my watch to wake me up at 8am just before my East Norwalk stop in Connecticut, or should I continue reading this Jack Kerouac biography that needs to be returned to the NY Public Library by Friday. My brain is pure flummery at this time of the morning. It doesn’t know if it’s considering either option, or just having one of those ‘death on a train’ dreams again.

And then it happens.

A man steps into my peaceful train carriage and flips the itchy-switch. Right in the middle of my contemplative sleep-think.

“Who owns these bloddy bags!” he nasalates (yes, a made up word), in his Caribbean accent. His accusing index finger waggles at some embarrassed pieces of luggage sitting in the mid-train, four-seat area. I try not to pay attention to this show, even though I have a prime, ring-side-beneath-the-Chapiteau seat. The phrase “Don’t look anyone in the eye” is still chiming in my ears as I feign indifference.

I glance at my reflection in the carriage window. Oh, shit. I’m wearing my fear face! Read the rest of this entry »