Anthony Rizzi
Bio
Environmentalist | Diver | Traveler | Surf Researcher| Sailor | Runner| Eater of all foods!
Stories (3/0)
Loop
Loop …go again. The blackened silver back of the train looks even more aggressive this time as it runs off only to get eaten by the skyscrapers. Again, not again. The following winds bring life to the forgotten pieces of newspaper turning them into the hated grey angels of the city. This place is just a huge birdcage, is it not? A sigh, a curse, a roll of the eyes, and another curse later, my expected disbelief and exhaustion pushes me to slink under the 1600-watt infrared heat lamp. First plugged in the 80’s to ensure the peoples’ blah blah blah, yet they only work on exposed skin according to science according to an English professor at a near by university of wolves. No it’s fine, I’ll just strip down to my boxers in negative thirty- degree weather and have the cruel Chicago flares wither me away. I’m sweaty anyway. At least I have my lucky underwear on. The pair with pink pineapples. Ladies love pink pineapples, according to a science professor. As I lean against the scratched, marked, and tormented plastic walls of the hotbox, bearing bored names and fake threats from grade school gangs and the occasional selling spot (note to self), to untie my shoes, a revelation hit me. The next train stop is only three blocks away. Why stand here half-naked, trusting an English professor, while a near by sleeping homeless man, who by the way took up the only bench Chicago can afford, is secretly observing me, and torture myself thinking of the last word in today’s crossword puzzle, knowing I do not know the answer; and I know it’s an easy answer, number 6 down, Noose; a Slipknot, ends in the letter “P”…when I can just run to the next stop. City jogging to the stairs, passing the homeless man, but stopping real quick to give him a high five, but still asleep so a simply slap on the head will have to suffice. Who knew snow and the cold brought such chaos to the city. People yelling at other people, cars honking at stop signs and people, blue lights rushing down the side chasing after more people. Oh and my favourite, the rare but always entertaining sight of the bus leaving the stop while in the near by distance a sad little person is chasing after it, cigarette in mouth, tie in face, bottom buttons popped, only to end up bending over in utter despair, huffing and puffing, sweating from daily exercise and the thought that that might have been the last time he could be late. But my hat off to you sir, for keeping the cigarette in your mouth. One block. Two block. Third block is where I messed up last time. I warn you now. When it comes to the city, age means nothing and by that I mean, the line of elderly ladies are simply on an evening stroll so do not mind to courtesy jog around them or crawl under them. Just get passed them. After that, a sense of guilt grows in you, but just pay it off with five cents to the guy chilling on the bottom step of the next train stop. This time, instead of five cents, I give him a cigarette as I pull out another for myself and light it as I two-time the steps. Okay, switching to just one at a time, as I’m half way up the flight. The rumble and roar and screeching and crying of the next arriving train vibrate the entire station. Now three steps per. Thank the heavens for Ventra. Press and Stop…Press and…Stop. It should be Press and Go. Press and…stop! The noises quiet down as I try again and again and again, and finally; go! Sliding my slim body through the metal bars, the wooden planks awaken by the worst noise ever, DOORS CLOSING. Again, not again. High school cross country didn’t train me for this, as I’m running, business suit all un-business like, choking on the air I’m breathing only to slightly touch the hard, cold metal body of the train. There is no way I’m going to…
By Anthony Rizzi4 years ago in Poets
