this morning #113.

this morning, the subway car rocked him awake as it took the turn near coney island & pulled into the station. when he’d first started his journey of slumber way out in jamaica, he was going on forty-seven hours without sleep. after running invincibly around queens like a proper meth addict for that entire time, he’d plum tuckered himself out. it had been a long two days, what with all the rambling & roaming and now he found himself entirely devoid of both cash & energy. as he rose & gathered his things, two officers peeked into the train & made their way straight toward him. with his head down, he scurried out the doors, broke & strung out & paranoid. at least he was at the beach.