Back from the Dead (PART 1)
Apparently, on Thanksgiving, Stove Top ain’t the only thing getting’ stuffed. Here I am, once more, mashed into a train overfilled to thrice its capacity. You see, Tokyo’s a tough town and finding spare space takes talent. A galleon-jug of mace or a few surreptitiously timed tazer shocks work wonders with the crowds, but I was in a rush and left my brass knuckles at home. Fortunately, the spirit of TG must be smiling upon me today, because I snag a seat straight away. Sure, it’s situated between a porno manga-perusing halitosiac and a grim-faced old dame, but I grin and bear it. After all, at the haggard age of 24 and 1 month, my bunions have seen better days.
OOH! Was that my hip breaking AGAIN?! DAGNABBIT!!
The train lurches forward, stops again, and a few dozen more people squirm their way aboard. Now, that the compartment’s truly packed tighter than a turkey’s ass, we collectively suck up -- a herd of tight-lipped Tokyoites, cramped in complete silence, corseted and looking quite constipated.
However, my six foot frame stubbornly refuses to shrink any more! My legs awkwardly jut into the aisle. Waste not want not, though, and a bedraggled man straddles my left thigh. Another straddles my right. As the speedy train banks, the whole groaning mass of passengers lean as one -- their sweaty chests and breasts pushing against the noses of us poor seated souls.
And thus, with two strange pairs of testicles lightly resting on my lap, a panoramic view of tomato sauce stains on a polka dot tie, and at least ten minutes till my stop, I ponder how to nonchalantly handle the situation. Briefly, I consider reaching for the diary buried deep in my man-purse. But, such a maneuver would require Cirque du Soleil-like acrobatics. Instead, smiling lightly, I stare ahead at the bulging crotches of business men.... I guess I really do have a lot to be thankful for today - usually, people pay good money for this shit.
To be continued....
OOH! Was that my hip breaking AGAIN?! DAGNABBIT!!
The train lurches forward, stops again, and a few dozen more people squirm their way aboard. Now, that the compartment’s truly packed tighter than a turkey’s ass, we collectively suck up -- a herd of tight-lipped Tokyoites, cramped in complete silence, corseted and looking quite constipated.
However, my six foot frame stubbornly refuses to shrink any more! My legs awkwardly jut into the aisle. Waste not want not, though, and a bedraggled man straddles my left thigh. Another straddles my right. As the speedy train banks, the whole groaning mass of passengers lean as one -- their sweaty chests and breasts pushing against the noses of us poor seated souls.
And thus, with two strange pairs of testicles lightly resting on my lap, a panoramic view of tomato sauce stains on a polka dot tie, and at least ten minutes till my stop, I ponder how to nonchalantly handle the situation. Briefly, I consider reaching for the diary buried deep in my man-purse. But, such a maneuver would require Cirque du Soleil-like acrobatics. Instead, smiling lightly, I stare ahead at the bulging crotches of business men.... I guess I really do have a lot to be thankful for today - usually, people pay good money for this shit.
To be continued....