Getting early was a decision-making process that involved compromising my determination and desire to cross paths with the beautiful subway woman. I ended up on the earlier train just because the Steinway Street station is not a hospitable place. Nowhere to sit when the homeless people sprawl across virtually the entirety of every bench. It was also hot and the early train that arrived was spaciously empty. I’ll hope to catch her tomorrow. It’s futile, I know, but this is how it’s done when you believe dating apps are a criminal enterprise tasked only with wasting your time and taking your money. I think about going to church sometimes. I have, in fact, done this. I’m not religious but the Catholic services always have a central homily where the priest addresses matters of the day, or matters of all times. That’s been the only reason I attend mass the past years. I leave before the communion ritual. I am no cannibal. I looked into walking groups but they always go on weekends or evenings and I work weekends and rarely go out past 3pm given my weekly schedule.

I got to Fulton Station and stepped onto John Street to see a fully naked mad standing nearby, talking loudly and apparently having a conversation with a nearby security guard at a neighboring garage. Someone across the street was recording it all with their phone. I think I got into the picture for a bit. Maybe I’ll be internet famous with a naked dude on John Street. He was standing on the spot where I usually see Candy. She’s the homeless woman who calls me Candy, and so that’s how I refer to her. We’ve had no real communication. She probably calls all the men on John Street Candy, or Sweetness, or Cocksucking Pig.

As I walked on I heard loud voice coming from Broadwday announcing “I AM GOING TO FUCK YOU UP! I AM GOING TO FUCK YOU UP!” Was it directed at the nude dude? I don’t know. Maybe it was directed at me, which would make no sense, and in this senseless scenario that would, in fact, make sense. Going to work among the ballers and ravers who’ve been out fucking themselves up all night long is kind of interesting and colorful but I once made a mistake of slipping through Theater Alley while it was still dark. There were some crackled fuckups laughing hyena-like as I passed by. It did not feel safe, and I stick to main roads now at these hours. I only had to go that route because the train ended at City Hall so I walked. 

The air conditioning on the subway has been positively erotic of late. It’s not just cool air, it’s the way it blows across the body, slipping like a woman’s fingers down into my shirt and suggesting the pants could be removed for even greater sensual appointment. Now I am in this breakroom where I regularly hear, or rather experience Musical Ear Syndrome, where I hear music emanating from an overhead vent. This sounds less like music and more like a man chanting.

I am scheduled for a dictor visit next week but I might just take a pass. I don’t like where any of this is going. I took Metformin (SP?) a couple of weeks ago. I finally know what the side-effects literatur of so many other drugs meant when it said thie drug may cause feelings of confusion. I’ve never experienced that before and I don’t wish to experience it ever again. I was also shaky, dizzy, and who knows what else. I had indicated to this doctor that I wanted to pursue fasting and diet change but she just kinda smirks at this suggestion, even though it is prominently offered as an alternative treatment on their practice’s website.