My body felt like it was in a wavy stream of dopiness after I had just gotten off my shift and was followed by a local bum in a chair toward the LaSalle Blue Line stop. All I could think about was my bed and the fear that this wheeling shadow would run over me before I even hit the stairs. Hence, I was tired as all hell.
I got to the train just on time, and I took my seat next to a napping worker of sorts and across from an aging black man that looked oddly familiar; couldn't pinpoint who exactly he was, though. Due to my fatigue, I wasn't in any mood to pull out the book I was slowly perusing, and I wasn't interested in kicking pixelated ass in Contest of Champions to keep myself awake. Instead, wandering my eyesight off in any direction was the only solution, with the exception of Snapchatting a few mates.
Yet this entire time I was distracted by the worker a seat away from me, taking my whole attention throughout the trip back home. This motherfucker continuously scratched his torso whilst his eyes were closed, all noise blocked off by his metal-coated headphones; perhaps fully immersed in some wacky tune of demonic possession or hardcore addiction that are provided by hopeless vocals of a depressed garage kid. He also exposed his skin while doing it, but I didn't note down any distinctive marks since he starting coughing like he was bound to perform the Big Spit. Nothing erupted, just more weird gestures that included twisting his shirt like trying to drain all the water from a towel and giving his smelly ol' balls a nice check with the nails.
This is no exaggeration. This twisted addict did all of this, right before my eyes - and clearly not his. The aging black man kept on eyeing him as well, peering through his chiefly lids. Then it all came back to me: Bernie, my former manager from the airport legwork, was him, and he was en route to work. Not too long ago I used to get up at insane hours of the day to get to work, running into Bernie and apologizing for being so damn late, yet he would let me off the hook since he was aware of my retarded scheduling. Plus he was always kind to me, such an understanding bloke of adequate wisdom - not like my candy-faced supervisor who looked like a Trump offspring with herpes.
I got to my stop and acknowledged Bernie, telling him I used to be an employee under his management. I thanked him for being a great manager and shook his hand. "Thank you, thank you. I really appreciate that," he said, after showing a little glow.
"I hope to see you sometime in the future," I said, which was followed by another "I appreciate that" by him with gentle harmony of sincerity. I took one last glimpse at the help-needed passenger who adores self-scratch massages, now napping with his head hunkered over to the point where his forehead hits the head of his groin, if excited.
I then walked out, on the way home and not anymore worried by any strange encounters of the filth kind.
June 30th, 2016
