Emily Ericson

I felt the usual breeze of the passing train as I stood waiting for mine. It was a quarter until 11 when I realized that I was one of a few people at the station that night. There were some other business-type people like me to my left, standing a good distance away. But a few feet to my right was an old man in a long woolen, gray coat and a brown hat. He was hunched over, staring at the ground. He was shaking terribly as if he were cold.

I marched on Pennsylvania

My analytical psychosis

I'm insane, you say?

Satan's vocal cords

Can you see the consequences of your actions?