baby got a dreambox

"this train smells like shit,"
is the first thing i hear when i open my eyes. the guy next to me is on a cell phone, probably has been the whole train ride. i look out the window onto rotting real estate drowning out trees. i can't smell anything, which makes me wonder if i'm the one stinking up this crowded train. he's leaning away from me on his phone, i'm leaning towards the window. he hangs up with whoever he was complaining to and calls someone else. maybe the smell is me, i wouldn't be surprised, it's gotta be four in the afternoon, i've been wearing this suit since four in the morning. i haven't eaten since two in the morning, unless you count a smoothie i gulped down before getting on the train. i'm probably rotting just like the scenery, it happens faster without care. the train stops and some people get off. he moves across the aisle to two recently vacated seats. thinking back upon the day, i remember determined distant faces traveling in herds, looking up to see patches of a cloudless sky between monumental buildings, nature distorted, as perhaps it always is. across the aisle, on his cell phone, he discusses the best way to get there as though every destination has one perfect route. he's planning to take the belt-line, it approaches the city from across the lake allowing one to view the horizon's geometric misshape in its entirety. i always preferred going straight through the city and watching the capital building jump out and approach like unavoidable disaster. "i'm going to visit a cute girl," he says to the phone. the train stops and everyone gathers their things. standing in the aisle of the train, i still can't tell if it smells. i get off the train and walk away from things.