Nueva York

The mice didn't bother me. They never really have. I kind of liked watching them scurry close to the wall, their gray shiny bodies wiggling across the gray shiny cement looking for the right hole to go through. I watched one this morning stop at every other hole and poke it's head in, then quickly continue to the next.
I'd glance over to the faces
that matched the feet
the little mouse navigated by
to see their reaction.

But the faces were too busy kissing each other.
Adjusting the scarf tightly around their child's neck.
Sucking their teeth and checking their watches.
By now the mouse is gone and I'm alone again.

My train pulls up violently like an ambulance. People pour out, and more people waddle in.
I am pushed up against eighty-five people with my hands across my chest to protect my tits from smashing up against a stranger. I'm kinky, but this is not my thing. I think about my mouse friend. Is it crowded in her hole? Is that what she was doing, looking for the least crowded one to crawl into?

When you're in a human storage container blasting through tunnels under water, under an apple, under more human storage containers, you tend to day dream a little. It's as though you're brain doesn't have to really function if it's underground. Your cell phone doesn't work, why should your brain? So I day dream. I'm eleven states away and I have yet to feel homesick. Among all these strangers, I'm alone inside them and it feels great.

I like looking at the girls on the subway. When you're smashed up in a subway car, it's really hard to place your eyes any where but on a human being. Eighty people trying to look at anything but each others eyes. You find your self looking at nooks and crannies of the car. Starring intensely at advertisements for vocational schools and domestic violence hot lines. Any thing but the eyes of a stranger.

So anyways, I like to look at the girls. I look at their boots and crawl my eyes up to their shiny, pout lips. Mouths are my favorite, "the lips have it!" I say. I'm pushed against all these people when really I want to be pressed against those mouths. Pressuring them to open, like subway doors. Their love pours out as my tongue waddles in.