The security guard in the Metro has his shirt halfway unbuttoned, with a small jesus piece resting in his grey chest hair. It matches his wedding ring. He flirts with his coworker, the lady selling the tickets. When I ask her, a woman beautiful for her age, for a receipt, she says that this station doesn’t do that, and she isn’t sure why. At the train platform, a couple on a bench protests social standards of public decency.
I’ve seen this before. The days blend together, and when I’ve been up all night in the city, today is still yesterday.
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