The F train has a stop on 63rd street and Lexington and I think it’s the deepest subway station I have been in. I will traverse the 4 or 5 escalators down to my train, but when I get home I like to take the elevator up. It can be a frightening wait; sometimes that thing is broken, but it’s always better than standing on escalators going up, and who am I fucking kidding, I am certainly not walking.
I was waiting for that elevator the other day. I left the party in the morning after waking, and taking inventory of what had happened. I quickly left, listening to podcast, filled with hangover angst and nausea, but I only realized what a horrible mood I was in when a woman came up to the elevator and started pushing the button. I always go fucking nuts when people do that, because it disregards my existence. Something better happens each time you press it…. don’t you know that?
This bitch kept on pressing it. Yeah, I have been impatient, but I wasn’t in the fucking mood. I hadn’t eaten, my head throbbed. It was not even that fun. I needed that shit. It’s not so bad. What would they think? Who fucking cares. I clearly do, intermittently.
If that bitch pushes the button one more time I swear to god I am going to kill her.
The Brooklyn bound train passed above us rumbling through the walls and I was suddenly aware of how deep we were. Her face was drawn and I hated her for being middle aged and looking the way she did. She looked like the reason people are scared of getting old. Pushing the button for no fucking reason and spreading her crappy attitude and leaving a path of it like a trail of garbage that someone else will have to clean up.
“If this subway caved in, I would step into the doorway of the elevator and you would get crushed. I would step into the doorway and survive, because I am having these thoughts already before it happens. And you would lay there crushed dead, arm stretched out toward the button. Que “Alive” survival fantasies. So deep, it would take weeks to find me. I clutched my phone, I have water in my bag, I could eat your finger first you dumb fucking cunt, no space to sit, the only thing to look at the top of your grey head with blood running out of it, It would be dark, but I could see it by my cellphone light.
I am never going to get out of here.
Fuck… my claustrophobia can’t be a part of this. This is a fantasy”