Monday

Alright, who the hell is eating motherfucking salami on the train at 7:30 in the morning? It must be some really twisted, odious way of heralding the coming of Spring on this, the first Springy Monday. I much prefer the technique employed by Little Miss Carroll Street. She prances on into the car all tall and blonde with her premature technicolor sun-dress, jaunty jean jacket, and lemony handbag, perched quite precariously atop too-high teal-colored heels, clinging to the door for support and at least looking good doing it; good and really, really uncomfortable. She plays with a blackberry for a while, plays with her hair a while, flipping it hither and yon, and pulls out a paper. Quite attractive though not quite stunning, she looks somehow above it all this Monday, flipping through the free rag, that is, until she enters what must be the meat of some article, and damn if her lips ain't movin'.