I was on the subway once and a man got on with a tiny boon box. He was an old black man, maybe in his 70's, and he was wearing a blue velvet suit.He hit play on the boom box, set it on the floor, and waited for the music to come on. The boom box played the music to "What a Wonderful World" and he sang the words, entrancingly.There was something extremely sad about this man, even though I'm quite sure he smiled the entire time. He just had this look about him, like he had a million stories to tell, if you just bothered asking. I wanted to know who he was and why he chose that song, god, that song. I felt good, connected to him somehow. It was one of those random perfect moments. And then my mind drifted, and all I could think was how perfect it would be if that man took out a gun and just started shooting at random. Never missing a note, panicky screams competing with the music blasting from the boom box. I was almost sad that it didn’t happen because it played out so beautifully in my mind. I snapped out of it and he stopped singing and asked for money. I don’t even remember if I gave him any. I do remember realizing how often that happens. These tragic, violent fantasies. I know I'm not alone in this, a few people have told me similar stories, but it's still kind of odd. I've recently realized how "worst case scenario" my mindset seems to be, i guess this just enforces that realization.
First entry in a million years and its a nutso one. Yays!
Anyway, for those of you who don't already know, I am still living with Sandy but now Seth lives here too. We have two cats, Charlie and Lapka. I get to sew ridiculous things all day for a living. I've lost a friend or two and made new(awesome)ones. I eat and drink too much. All in all, stuff is good.