| Feet (I)
Yesterday a rat scurried between my ankles, only to get caught by my frantic movements. This prolonged the experience. This morning there was a gooey, yellow substance on my ankle of unknown origin. A couple hours ago, I realized my flats were walking through blood and toilet paper. I think it was blood, or something very blood-esque. I don't know. Either someone was stabbed or there was an animal sacrifice.
Ritualistic Walk to Class (II)
Walk out, make that left. Avoid eye contact with the leering loiterers. Cross the street regardless of the light, as long you don't get hit. Power walk past the corner market with the red banners. Mentally acknowledge the homeless man. I named him at one point, but forgot already. Somebody always gives him food, and that is relieving. 164th. That ridiculous new store with the big apple sign. It's not a cafe. Why do you call it a cafe? 165th, cross. Power walk harder. Check the time. Cross to the other side of the street. Past hospital, cheap shops, homeless people, health professionals. Inhale at the sugared-peanut cart. Hold breath at the subway vent. Breath at 168th. Power walk. Ignore leering men in front of the shelter. Cross street. Push through spinning doors. On tired days, press the handicap button.
Superhuman Power (III)
My friends say it, so it must be true. I have the superhuman ability to both recognize and be within vicinity of celebrities. Scrubby Zach Braff at Think, Maggie Gyllenhaal sitting across from me in subway, SVU cast blocking me from obtaining my much needed espresso... This trait is unfortunately paired with inordinate star-struck syndrome. All 23 years furrow back (is there such thing as reverse cell division?) into some... I don't know. Crude, hyperstimulated blob with only one train of thought: Camera or no camera? It's alright, I've gotten better. I once had a temporary stuttering issue when Britney was at a mutual Starbucks.
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