Going Home

Dear reader,

I'm sorry. I've been negligent. At first I was going to write once a day, twice a day. Unfortunately, this quota is just to difficult to fill.

I've been busy. I've been busy drinking and gambling with my life in New York City. Everyone here is a threat; everyone is a threat to me. They know where i'm from. They can see it in my eyes, my ears, my shorts, my shoes. They are all looking at me, sizing me up, but i'm faster than they are. I'm smarter and blessed with a supreme advantage: I'm from California. I'm cooler than they are, more handsome, more vigilant. I see the short, balding man in front of me with his khakis and his loafers. The tall Scandinavian woman to my right.

It is not that these people are any more violent that the rest of the world, but there are simply too many of them here, crammed on an island, a street, a train. Why would anyone live like this?
"New York's the best fucking place on earth."
"Why do you say that?"
"The streets, the nightlife, the Yankees, the fucking pizza."
So there are millions of people here for those very things. All of these people are a threat. At the end of the subway train an obese woman with two children argues with a toothless black man in gray sweatpants and a white undershirt. He has lied to her about another woman and she does not want him to touch here.
"Don't touch me. Don't fucking touch me."
"I know I lied to you..."
"fucking stop... don't touch me"
There body language is nerve-racking. The woman is sitting down and attempting to read a book in between curses and threats. She is reading to her children, one of whom is straddling her knee, facing her, while the other lays next to her on the bench. The man is standing up, bent at the waste, leaning over her with his hand on the wall behind her. I'm staring at them. She looks over and sees me. Oh fuck.
"Shut up... be quiet" she says to him, clearly aware of the scene they're making.
To my surprise and relief the toothless man does not retaliate by speaking directly to the train.
"What?! I'll be as loud as I want!"

But it's getting worse. The man is totally pathetic. He is fucking oblivious. The two children have some idea of what's going on and are clearly upset. He is relentless. He continues to tell her, "I lied to you," as if such a concession would ever work to defuse this situation. I'm looking at them again. I pity her, with both of her children so young and this asshole. She sees me; she looks directly at me. Now he's looking, what the fuck? I'm fucked. They're going to kill me, and steal my money and max out my credit card having unprotected sex in a cheap hotel. Fuck.

Now she pushed him. The obese woman with two children just pushed the toothless, relentless, oblivious black man, and she did it from a seated position. At this point i've stopped watching and they are yelling again. The dialogue is the same but it's getting louder, she is becoming more terse. She is enjoying this! He is too for that matter. He is begging her at this point and she is shrugging it off. Oh fuck, I looked. He's on his knees now, pleading for her to take him back and she is unyielding, unmoved by his desperation. He is louder than ever. Everyone on this train is loving this, but I cannot watch. And suddenly, there is silence.

At this moment, the toothless man reaches into his backpack and pulls out a gun. Swinging around to face the woman, he pulls the trigger. The shot is deafening. Everyone jumps because they were pretending not to care, and so therefore, not keeping their eyes on the toothless man. There are two more shots. People are panicking. I leave my bag on the floor, leave my friends, and run for the far side of the train. Another shot rings out and the construction work to my right throws his hands over his face. Blood splashes the windows; from the outside the subway train looks like a shot from a fucking horror movie. Another shot and I hit the ground. My hands clutch at my neck and feel their own blood. "what an asshole. I'm shot. I'm going to die. I've been shot by this toothless man."

All of this shit lasts for about five stops on the subway. When the man finally leaves and I see him walking up the stairs towards the exit I think, "I would have survived." If everyone died, I would have survived. I'm from California, and besides people who have no teeth and appear to be in their early thirties spend money on crack, not firearms. It would have been much more plausible if he had a knife. That would definitely up my chances of escape. I notice that i'm sweating a little bit and I can't help but think that i'm totally fucking ridiculous. This happens all the time, several times a day. My stomach was in fucking knots after all this; my stomach has been in knots ever since I came to New York (and half the time i've been on the upper east side). It's my father's fault. He's done this to me, and now I can never relax.

So I'm going back to California where there aren't any mosquitoes, and there are beaches, and wonderful, wonderful shopping malls.