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May 31, 2002
The F train. One seat available. I sit down and glance at the person next to me. He looks, as my mother used to say, "a little off." Oversized glasses, socks with sandals and what is that smell? Eggplant? This somewhat derailed human is indeed scarfing loads of the stuff in a drippy sauce from a tupperware container. I get up. Of course I do. I spend most of my time watching this guy. I can feel my face going into that P.U. shape. He stares back at me. Sauce all over his face. No on else seems to notice.