Strange Days.
In the paper yesterday, there was news of a girl who was reported missing near Chelsea Piers, having gotten drunk and wandering around the west side.
On the way home, getting on the F train (at about 3:30am), there was this cute girl asleep on the train seats, dressed in one of those workout leotards and a purse under her head. She couldn't have been any older than what, 19? 22 at the most? While trying to figure out what I was going to say about Miami Vice on my journal, I kept looking over at her and thinking about the missing girl in the paper.
It's 3am in the morning. You're somebody's daughter. What are you doing on the trains alone, and sleeping? Don't you know how dangerous it is out here? There are bad people on the streets at night.
I wanted to wake her up and ask her if everything was okay. Approaching the last stop, I stood and walked over to her, tapping the end of the seat frame with my foot. She opened her eyes with a bit of a lethargic jolt, and then looked at me as if she were still dreaming.
"Miss?", I held up one hand and gestured to the train door that had just opened behind me with the other. "Miss, you're at the last stop in Queens." I said evenly.
She nodded. "Thank you." she replied, hugging her purse to herself and slowly getting up.
"You're welcome." I said and nodded in return, stepping out of the train car. Her footsteps were slow, and I found myself glancing back at her on my way up and out of the train station. I caught a cab and saw her standing there, waiting for the next one. I hope she caught it.
This morning, the missing girl is the cover story of the Daily News, her body having been found in a dumpster out in Jersey. Her friend passed out from too much drinking, and she started wandering. The guy who picked her up used her cell phone to make a call, but never gave it back (he shut it off). They took a cab out to a hotel in Jersey, where she was beaten and murdered. Her parents didn't even know she was partying.
If I have a daughter, I'm gonna try to have a GPS chip surgically implanted in her skull. This way, I can keep track of where she's going and how she's doing at every given moment of the day. It's either that or lock her up in the basement.
On the way home, getting on the F train (at about 3:30am), there was this cute girl asleep on the train seats, dressed in one of those workout leotards and a purse under her head. She couldn't have been any older than what, 19? 22 at the most? While trying to figure out what I was going to say about Miami Vice on my journal, I kept looking over at her and thinking about the missing girl in the paper.
It's 3am in the morning. You're somebody's daughter. What are you doing on the trains alone, and sleeping? Don't you know how dangerous it is out here? There are bad people on the streets at night.
I wanted to wake her up and ask her if everything was okay. Approaching the last stop, I stood and walked over to her, tapping the end of the seat frame with my foot. She opened her eyes with a bit of a lethargic jolt, and then looked at me as if she were still dreaming.
"Miss?", I held up one hand and gestured to the train door that had just opened behind me with the other. "Miss, you're at the last stop in Queens." I said evenly.
She nodded. "Thank you." she replied, hugging her purse to herself and slowly getting up.
"You're welcome." I said and nodded in return, stepping out of the train car. Her footsteps were slow, and I found myself glancing back at her on my way up and out of the train station. I caught a cab and saw her standing there, waiting for the next one. I hope she caught it.
This morning, the missing girl is the cover story of the Daily News, her body having been found in a dumpster out in Jersey. Her friend passed out from too much drinking, and she started wandering. The guy who picked her up used her cell phone to make a call, but never gave it back (he shut it off). They took a cab out to a hotel in Jersey, where she was beaten and murdered. Her parents didn't even know she was partying.
If I have a daughter, I'm gonna try to have a GPS chip surgically implanted in her skull. This way, I can keep track of where she's going and how she's doing at every given moment of the day. It's either that or lock her up in the basement.