The Face Of Every Man On The East Coast

Once again I find myself on the East Coast, the most baffling and inscrutable place in the world. I’m on a train, which is even more East Coast, and surrounded by men briskly brushing breakfast crumbs off of their cuffs before hauling out tiny little workstations and making makeshift trash cans out of the flimsy cardboard box their breakfast came in. They wear fleeces over a button-down and they sing to me! Their faces sing!!

“My father is the oldest window in the world.”

im the business fiber boy, typing with my business hands

I SLEEP INSIDE THE PRESCRIPTION EYEWEAR CAROUSEL AT THE WALGREENS AND I CAN SEE EVERYTHING FROM THERE

“Packs of white socks! Packs of thick-ribbed white socks! Packs of thickleribbed white! socks!”

put a pile of mail on me and let me rest beneath the postweight

Apple man! Apple crust man! I’m the man who’s always carrying around the core of an apple that he just ate! I’m the man who carries the apple core, with the wet left hand!

“Give me that half-full bottle of Crystal Springs and let me rip the little cap off with my handpaw-meat…I want to leave little rings of condensation from my four different beverages all over…all of my beverages are necessary for Optimization…my beverages! I’m the Mostly Beverages Man and I’m LIQUIDS…”

I can’t wait to fall asleep on this train and let everyone watch my face grow slack and vulnerable!!!! I don’t want to sleep but this train WILL lull me and then all the awake men with their working face muscles can type their clacking deeds away next to the sleepiest boy in the world!!