I have a witness, goddamn it. I have categorical proof of how difficult it is to avoid parkdale hobo propositions without talking. Find Kate and ask her.
Today on the subway a dude in his forties shuffled across the platform to tell me I'm pretty. He then proceeded to tell me to go to school, work hard and get a good job because "now's your time". With every word he advanced till he was within an arms reach, leering toothlessly. I kept Buster Keatoning at him which he didn't respond to (as in he didn't respond to my responses, which leads me to think he was actually coming on to the bench I was sitting on.) and was equally unaware of the general reception his nearness got. One example being when my dear chum interjected with, "Um, we're kind of on our way to a funeral" and was greeted with more smiles from the dude. And equally unaware again when we threw our arms up to keep him from sitting on our laps. Presumably to coo more at the bench/my tits.
Today was a Lynchian nightmare. A homogenous soup of hideous images flashing by. I saw a woman shitting on a restaraunt while a man who worked there forcefully tried to eject her (for the record, she refused to get up until she was done. Atta girl.) I saw the rain refracting off the tears of mourning friends while family bickered over waiting in lines to get in to chapel, dissatisfied with nothing. Unhealthy gums looking to connect with young teeth. The thought that life potentially does not get any easier was discussed over dinner tonight and for some reason that makes shit easier.
Don't you think?
...Don't answer. I'm scared of your reply.
love you.
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