Someone please kill me...
I won't be mad, really. Put me out of my misery now. The only consoling thought is... Damn. There is no consoling thought.
So, any takers?
Oh, and by the way, my hands are now so black from clutching the charcoal death sticks so tightly that when I go to wash my hands, THEY STAY BLACK! VERY unattractive.
Musings and observations of people I come across on America's oldest subway, The "T" and other random thoughts that float through my head.
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