As I stood on the subway platform this morning, waiting for the train, surrounded by swirling clouds of smoke and brownish particulate fog and the snort-hork-spit of dozens of Korean men casting throat-oysters onto the concrete, for some unknown reason they decided to play music, for the first time since I’ve been using that station.
Their choice of tunes : “Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini”, loud, trebly.
The feeling was stunningly close to an acid flashback. For a few seconds, I was reeling, and the faces staring at me (as they always do, living as I do in a place where there are no other foreigners) seemed malevolent, and the yellow-brown sunlight filtering through the clouds of smog flickered.
I’m afraid I’ve walked through the portal into bizarro-world. That would suck. Unless the beer’s good. Then I can live with it.