Welcome to Hell...

Well I was going to write about something else this afternoon, but I’ve been distracted from that by the fact I’m sitting in a train that - I shit you not - is 110 degrees inside, and fucking PACKED to the roof. It was either STAND UP all the way home or sit in a car with no air conditioning. I chose the latter... perhaps a bad choice, but it was quickly too late to change my mind. It’s a local too... not an express. Seems the train scheduled to leave 10 minutes prior got cancelled and they shifted that train’s entire complement of passengers to THIS one. What the fuck.?? You can’t just DOUBLE the occupancy of a RUSH HOUR train!! Somebody is gonna fucking SNAP and go on a murderous rampage in here. It may be me. First day of summer... woo-hoo. I should have worn shorts. Fucking hell.

And it’s not like the first day of summer didn’t already have me on edge... the first day of honest-to-goodness 90 degree summer heat... walking down the street all day through the parade of evaporating clothing and bare skin... legs... shoulders... backs... cleavage... necks... clavicles... midriffs... toes... legs...

... legs...

And all of them, ever so slightly...

*glistening*

FUCK, WOMEN... PUT SOME FUCKING CLOTHES ON BEFORE I FUCKING KILL MYSELF!!

I’ve been more than a little... ummm... shall we say “distracted” all day.

I should have told them I had to leave the meeting at 4:00. Who the FUCK has a THREE HOUR MEETING during fucking SUMMER VACATION??

I could have been a happily air-conditioned passenger on the 4:21.

Instead I’m on the 5:36 train to the fucking Solstice-Level of Dante’s Inferno... populated by mortals who complained about the rain too much when they were fucking alive, and now have to sit in the 200 degree fucking heat for eternity between two fat sweaty guys in suits while half-naked unattainable women parade by and blast them with napalm at regular intervals.




My fingerpits are sweating.... the little spaces between my fingers... dripping with sweat. I’m not sure I’ve ever sweated from there before.



And to add insult to injury, I just heard one of the nearby Glisteners say to her underage boyfriend over their fake-ID-acquired cans of Bud Light - ”Actually... I’m not really all that hot. I feel fine.”

THAT’S BECAUSE YOU’RE FUCKING NAKED, YOU SLUT!!

Are we there yet??

D.