(no subject)
My phone was stolen on the train today.
Armed with the beauty of hindsight, it was obvious that the huddle of men which surrounded me on the otherwise roomy MRT wasn't interested in getting into my pants as much as getting what was inside it. My foolish, initial burst of flattery evaporated when they began to crowd around me and bump me towards the edge of the train. I pushed out of their circle when the train slowed, and found out that one of my pockets was empty. One of them must have taken my phone as I shoved my way away from them. I whirled around and yelled at- I don't know, they somehow melted into the busy crowd at the station we had just stopped at. People began to move away from me, muttering about "people these days" as they all began checking on their own bags and pockets for their phones. I was newly robbed, in the middle of a train full of people texting about me.
As the train pulled away and sped up, I felt oddly naked, pressed in a corner with my hands clutching my pants. I headed straight to a convenience store, bought cigarettes, and smoked my way to James' condo for a meeting in a daze. (It's a new hobby, by the way.) (Smoking.)
That cellphone has messages from people I've lost, poetry, photos, and around two dozen men whose numbers I need to keep my sex life from shuddering and dying.
And they didn't even take my cheap little pen.
Armed with the beauty of hindsight, it was obvious that the huddle of men which surrounded me on the otherwise roomy MRT wasn't interested in getting into my pants as much as getting what was inside it. My foolish, initial burst of flattery evaporated when they began to crowd around me and bump me towards the edge of the train. I pushed out of their circle when the train slowed, and found out that one of my pockets was empty. One of them must have taken my phone as I shoved my way away from them. I whirled around and yelled at- I don't know, they somehow melted into the busy crowd at the station we had just stopped at. People began to move away from me, muttering about "people these days" as they all began checking on their own bags and pockets for their phones. I was newly robbed, in the middle of a train full of people texting about me.
As the train pulled away and sped up, I felt oddly naked, pressed in a corner with my hands clutching my pants. I headed straight to a convenience store, bought cigarettes, and smoked my way to James' condo for a meeting in a daze. (It's a new hobby, by the way.) (Smoking.)
That cellphone has messages from people I've lost, poetry, photos, and around two dozen men whose numbers I need to keep my sex life from shuddering and dying.
And they didn't even take my cheap little pen.