Rainy Day Man # 010908

Stepping into the bowels of 5 o'clock commuter traffic from a place where wind is tightening the lines on under your eyes and blushing your checks. Christ it's muted down here. And milky? If I could look to the left at just the right time, I can see an impending movement about to take place in my life. A movement that carries me. Don't react too quickly, look up too hastily or stare. Maybe there's a pole I can hug, a hang-nail I can bother. I'd read a book if I could concentrate longer than three seconds, but I'm a goldfish. I'm taken from carnival, to pet shop, to home. I said, "Conductor, ain't there nothin' I can take," but remember, I took everything before I left. That is the point of this obsessive story line. If you can settle beyond heart-attack, you've made it. If you look at the same person four times and feel creepy about it, then you're using them. Soon enough I'll be following someone's khaki pants up a stairwell. I'll flex the sphincter of this big city. That is to say that the city outside is a toilet bowl and I'm piece of shit. Not fair I guess.