Your feedback form is broken so let me share with you what I know, because dusk is settling across the skyline and I have to go home. I know somewhere in your dark ribcage is your metro card, your expired company ID, and the passport you needed to enter at 14th street. All lost. All missing, but not gone. There are traces of what remains of your youth all over the subway platform. The smell of thick, humid dread and the twisting scent of human and human and human. I know you were always good at the stairs. We went up ladders together until you couldn’t hold on, and I am left with a ghost. Remember me? I am the archangel of substance abuse and longing. It is dark now. I know you are there, I say, with my flashlight phone in one fist. I have the survey results. I am here to talk to your manager.
Subway Map
Subway Philosophy is about New York, culture, sex, publishing, memories, alcohol, or a combination of the above. Originally taken from drunken musings on the subway, it has evolved into something extraordinarily similar to most young blogs: which is to say, redundant, romantic, and woefully introspective.Archives
Train Lines
-
Recently
Current Subway Reading
White TeethRSS
http://feeds.feedburner.com/SubwayPhilosophyMeta