Subway Guy

I'm standing on the downtown bound 1 platform under the 13th street staircase, directly below the place where it happened a little over a year ago. I think of him more often than I thought I would. Over time, as the shock wore off, I've become pretty well convinced that he died. It's hard not to be angry at the people who walked over his body without a care or concern as he lay there groaning like a cow being slaughtered. Every time I am on this platform I remember how trapped I felt in my body, immobilized by the sight of the blood. I cried for him a few times, and felt sorry that I didn't do more than call the station office and wait until help arrived.

That same night I went on my first date in New York, with a guy I met in a bookstore. He was nice enough, but as the evening unfolded I realized he was trying to get me drunk enough that I'd go back to his apartment. As lonely and fragile as I was back then, and with the aftermath of emotion from having watched a man lose a ton of blood from his head, I'm surprised I didn't just do it in spite of my persistent sobriety. Regardless, I made my way home by myself that night, never spoke to him again, and have never regretted it. The guy was a douchebag.

kyle the girl
(on iPhone)