I sat down and began typing:
“The car pulled into the parking lot and John’s feet couldn’t stop tapping. It was like some involuntary movement that made him want to dance within his chair. This was happening. Right here, right now! The car stopped. He bolted out like he had to take the meanest piss of his life.
“Wait John, I still have to grab my purse!” His mom yelled back. Screw her, she’s dead weight. She knew what was going on here. She knew the score when I risked getting frost bite to pump encompass amounts of unleaded into the Caravan. This wasn’t just any trip to Meijer. “I’ll be in the music section!” I yelled back.
John cut across the Garden side to avoid extra foot traffic in the way. He was rather smart like that. Although he had to pull his best soft footwork to get around all the obstacle within the pharmacy. Carts, canes, strollers, Oh my. He cut past a father screaming at his son during clothing isle. Apparently Michigan State apparel was not allowed anywhere near the residence. One last turn and he’d arrived at the sign “Music & DVD’s & VHS”
It took a while for John to find it under the L section. He originally began to have a heart attack when he couldn’t find it under B. “There you are!” he heard a familiar voice from the end of the isle. “Did you find what you were looking for?” “Oh yes I found it! alright” He answered back. “Mary? Mary is that you?” Another voice rang out like an approaching train. “Samantha Hey! how are you doing?” Their pitches matched and John was worried it would knock of the display. “Great! John gonna buy a Cd! He’s been excited about it all week!” “Really? Well I’m always looking for new music. What CD did you buy?”
—-Jerrome Bettty” the Trap music stated screaming out. “MAN FUCK THESE HEAD PHONES!” “Call me Kerierotche, somethin’ somethin -otche!” MAN this song is dat SHIITT! I Don’t give a fuck if I get thrown off dis motha fucka. I’m down for this shit!” The DART police walked over. “We’ve told you before, to turn it down sir! Come with me!” Music man pulled his arm back and the long arm of transit authority flexed it’s stone bicep. “ajlsdfjkhqwjenfahavna” A leg kicked me in the side forcing me to mash the keyboard. Hand cuffs where thrown on Music man, hauled off at the Medical Market station.
Welcome to writing on the Train every morning.