he's like a detuned radio

“A scream for help is only as good as the notes it’s sung on.” The wino on the Red Line explains to me. “Although conversely, we’re all singing like mad everyday.”

I got drunk in Old Town and am riding the wrong train. I think I’m heading toward the South Side. That was the last stop for downtown, only above ground from here on out. At least that’s what the adverts on the telly will have me believe.

We’re all drunk though. Some are merry, some are crying, some are fighting. I swear to fuck that this assclown sitting next to me fucking wet himself. I’d do something about it but I’m in no condition to stand. There is, however, something warm about it.

Tonight is just six cigarettes of one or half a dozen of the other. But according to the good folks on the intercom, along with eating and gambling, fumaring is forbidden as well. Savages…

The wino is talking again but my language sensor broke hours ago, after I left Tavern 33, before the night even started. I’d converse but he insists on talking in math. To make myself seem more accommodating I fire up the accoutrement.

You’d think we were in fucking Los Angeles the way people look at you when you smoke. “I’ll put it out. I’ll put it out.”

It turns out that it wasn’t the jones next to me that wet himself. It might’ve been me. I guess if I did want to get my ass kicked this would be a sublime situation to encourage it.

The wino graces me with the first whack. It feels good. It changes the channel in my head. Then comes a slow motion dig into my stomach. This one has pressed the automatic expunge button. A brief, holy second to determine which end it’s coming out followed by a shiny stream of the past two hours flying at him.

This only aggravates the wino more. I don’t think he is a wino any longer; he may never even have been a bum. This fucker has ideas! This fucker has the left jab of Justice and the right hook of Karma. When he delivers the upper cut the blood tastes like clockwork to my mouth, salty, yet sweet.

Deliverance. They kick me off. My body runs headlong into a support beam. I pour myself into a human puddle on the ground. It’ll be over soon now. I still can’t stand. This missing tooth has provided me with an ideal place to put my smoke.

The train pulls away with a ding ding ding. This is what you get when you mess with us.