Friday, July 16, 2010


So I get on the F train after sweating it out on a miserable platform (I know its dirty, but could someone out a fkng fan down there) and the cars are packed. After a stop this well groomed hot hispanic man in a track suit gets on and presses up behind me. It's a long stop between B'way/Lafayette and W.4th St. and he proceeds to be active with his piece with his arms strap hanging up behind either side of my head. It was big.

Then all of a sudden a new automated announcement broadcated in the car that I had never heard before and that could be read in lights in the information runner "A CROWDED SUBWAY CAR IS NO EXCUSE FOR UNLAWFUL SEXUAL MISCONDUCT. IF YOU SEE OR ARE A VICTIM OF ANY SUCH ACTIVITY TELL AN MTA EMPLOYEE OR A POLICE OFFICER." It was the same voice as the man who urges you to report suspicious packages. I felt totally watched and violated... by the MTA. The man teeming behind me withdrew from his frottage and we both looked around all confused and flustered. We made peripheral eye contact both sort of shrugging and shifting around away from each other. We were coping as best we could with our fevah. Then some fat bitch had to move her huge bag from one shoulder to the other forcing us both into an even further unlawful sexual position of meat pressing. Then it was over I got off (the train) in Chelsea.

I just wanted to splice a sling over the damn car but there were none online that were workable with so I had to use this awful sex chair which I'm sure the MTA would issue if they were making sex furniture. Then I forgot that my sleepy pills were hitting and I got carried away. For your pleasure.

A seedy old sign as a bonus...

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