Subway Encounter

On the way there, a man on the subway is reading a trashy sex novel. He is hunched over. The agonizing, thorn-crowned, solid gold head of Jesus hangs between his legs from a chain around his neck. The train is bumping and convulsing, and Jesus swings to and fro, quietly smacking into the man’s crotch like a morbidly sexed pendulum. All I can think is that Jesus is giving head to this man. The tortured floating head of this deity-pop-star is slapping a penis every two seconds. (He’s got the priests beat, and he doesn’t even have hands.)

On the way back, a man is shooting blanks - some unintelligible diatribe. His eyes move like houseflies, impulsive and fickle. He finally bursts into tears, and I feel terrible for not understanding. We are forced to observe one another, he and I, on the train. He looks around, as puzzled by the rest of the passengers as some of us are by him.