Open.

Open. Just open. Please open. Pretty please open. Just a little bit. A tiny crack. Christ, just open.

Why-won’t-you-open-you-fucking-piece-of-shit-motherfucking-door?!

Calm. Down.

I can’t believe I gave up my seat to stand head and shoulders above these Asians. I look left. I look right. I smell the fish/urine/rotting skin. But I’d have to look down to see any of those-slant-eyed-motherfuckers-in-their-eye!

Calm. Down.

I can’t believe I gave up my warm seat to have my ass warmed by these Mexicans behind me. Turn your head and look. Don’t stare. But make sure they’re not into your grill.

Why won’t these doors open?

We are having difficulties with the door release mechanism. This is only a temporary situation and will be resolved shortly. Thank you for your patience.

Well, ask an easy question, and I get an easy answer. Here’s another one for you. Why do these sluts keep talking about nothing at all? If I hear one more cliché to sum up a complex socio-economic state of affairs, I swear to my Christian God that I’m going to smash their fucking head against this fucking pole until even the Mexicans give a shit and step the fuck off my ass.

We are having difficulties with the door release mechanism. This is only a temporary situation and will be resolved shortly. Thank you for your patience.

That’s not the answer I was looking for. But I have to calm down. The extra hours are not worth working the morning shift. The only perk about this job is that I get to avoid rush hour. Fuck, my hourly wage is small enough. And no one tips for breakfast. Throw on top of that the forty five minute commute with two transfers in a packed train that I had to fight to get a seat and now have to wait for a door to open because some god damn fat ass Negro held it open too long on the last stop. Heaven-fucking-forbid that one of her sisters misses the train and has to catch the next one like every other person who misses the train. Why do poor people think they own the train? They’re worse than rich people and property.

Ding. Dong.

Nothing. This door is never going to open. I’m never going to get to work. I’m never going to wait on a table. I’ll have woken up early, earned no money for it and drag tonight when there is real money to be made. I’ll go home broke again. I’ll have nothing to give my girls. And Tabitha is going to point out again that I’m a loser. I wonder if she’ll ask the girls to leave the room first?

I see you waiting on the platform. How does it feel to freeze your ass off out there? I’ve got a couple Mexicans keeping mine nice and toasty. I see you crowd the door, trying to get a piece of the luxury that I’m living. I know you’re eyeing the possible seats available. I watch you elbow and jut your hip out to fight for position. I’d feel sorry for you. But I sort of fucking hate you. Besides, this door is never going to open. Haven’t you been listening to me?