"Observations on a train. He’s drunk off his ass and tells me I look like a stone cold killer. I don’t disagree. She’s sitting, he’s standing, and they’re still holding hands. He’s wearing a Brooklyn hoodie and looks rather badass, except for the fact that I can see his belly button. Vacant stares. You can tell who the tourists are because they’re the only ones watching the dudes swing from the railings, while everyone else is either secretly afraid of getting kicked in the face or hoping one of them falls. She has a really pretty handbag, except it’s covered in spikes and might as well say, “Fuck with me and I will swiss cheese your face”. There are a whole bunch of women with hoop earrings and I have a sudden cruel mental image of the chaos that would ensue if they all got linked together. The guy across from me is reading sheet music and conducting a Rumba symphony in the air. Some little kid keeps saying “Bing! Bong!” while the doors are still closed and everyone is suddenly officially confused. We’re below ground again and everyone collectively mourns the loss of their dearly departed cell phone signals. He has dreads and leaves a green bag near his seat and casually walks away. I follow him and get a few shots of his back just in case it’s a bomb. It’s not a bomb."