Death, Depressed

Subway Writing 3

This is a double feature. Before we begin I want to share a sentence I wrote without any context that I just found: “I live with broken things.”


Though age 52 another woman thought her to look not a day over 45. The mistake was supposedly flattering, but she knew it didn’t mean she was attractive. At age 24 she had celebrated her little sister’s 21st by escaping to a local pub. Her newly legal sister had to force her ID on the barkeep, while our protagonist was asked and analyzed by the same man, because the legality of her presence at this establishment was in question. After the embarrassment of her seeming to be a lawbreaker as opposed to the mentor she desired to appear as to her younger sister, she then wasn’t able to show off any skills of seduction either.

Her family liked meals together and didn’t mind the extra weight that came with those meals. She had the unluckiest metabolism of her family of fatties. Nobody made her feel bad about her weight. Nobody except the world that thought she looked like a perfect piece of veal – young and plump.

Too bad we don’t love people the way we love food.


His throat hoarse from a full day of howling on the subways, he once again perched himself against a pole and strummed his out of tune guitar and attempted to make his voice heard over the rickety train wheels. His fingers were hard with callouses that pretented bleeding and his forehead was sweaty with sweat that prevented the overheating of a person who was vastly overweight and had decided physical exertion should be a constant in his life. He scurried from train to train, half panting half regurgitating sound from a throat rawer than any WWE fan’s dreams. He on the other hand was a part of nobody’s dreams.

My thoughts: I have always been self conscious about my weight, though in a way that was not relatable to anyone else. Therefore sometimes I try to imagine my life if I were fat, just to see the differences. There are differences, and the stigma attached to my weight issues does not compare to the stigma for the chunkariffic, but it’s interesting to me nonetheless. I also obviously like looking at people who have wasted their lives. The idea that I get to a point in my life where death is looming and yet I have accomplished nothing is an idea that keeps me up at night and striving to accomplish things. It is both my biggest fear and my biggest motivator; the best and worst thing in my life. These sad subway souls are the most important pieces of my life.


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