Happy Hour (Red Line - Peak of the Peak)

I was told that if you hear a frequency too loud, it kills those...cells? lining? magic pixies? in your ear and you can never hear that particular note again.

Dude in the brown hat isn't worried about it. Tinny buzz. Buzzy tin. Tizzy buns. Tiny buds. Those ain't built for bass, son. Don't cry to me when they short out and you're just rocking $15 earplugs. Boom bap bap boom boom bap bap.

Some kid sticks his foot between the sliding doors as they shut just to make the operator have to open and close them again.

"Customers, please step back from the doors so the train can continue." Exasperation in the voice. This isn't the first time today he's said that, I'm guessing.

A flabby man sits slumped in his seat, eyes closed, folding in on himself like a collapsing tent. His crew cut droops perilously closer to the lady's shoulder beside him. She hugs the opposite edge of her seat, assuming a well-practiced pained expression, crow's feet deepening, bright red lips pressed together.

Ding, ding, the doors open again, and the wretched refuse of the teeming shore huddles its masses into the car, wave upon wave. We, the natives, defend our personal spaces as best we can against these invaders, both sides flicking their eyes upward from Blackberries to steal furtive glances at each other.

***

There's a puddle on the tracks, so full of sludge that it barely reflects the lights at all.

I don't feel sad anymore, which is kind of strange in itself. I don't really feel anything anymore. Haven't for a while. So why do I think today's the day? Impossible to say, really.

I'm lying, I do feel something: tired. One could hardly blame me. Emotions are exhausting. I'm glad I upgraded to the no-emotions service plan.

All that is moot now, and it's kind of a relief, which I suppose is the point. Today is the day. Maybe. Easier said than done. Although, pretty easily done too. We'll see.

"Do one thing every day that scares you," she used to say. I'm sure she still does. She should be proud of me, taking her advice.

I look down at my feet as the lights on the floor begin to blink.

***

Almost convinced myself I could make out BrownHat's song, but just as I was narrowing it down the track changes. Ah, who's gonna confirm it, anyway?

Two more stops. It's a pain having to metro to happy hour. Just eating away at an already-small window of discounted drinks. Unless you work for the Feds and get off at 2 PM or whatever. But they probably get beer subsidies in their benefits package anyway.

The subway brakes are like metal fingers shearing a chalkboard in half. Anyone not sitting or hanging on to a pole stumbles; a couple go right to the floor. Wordless exclamations ring out and heads swivel in annoyance.

"Third time today they've stopped in the middle of the damn track for no reason," a blue-blazered man mutters to his plastic security badge.

We wait for the explanation and cursory apology over the speaker. It is apparently not forthcoming, this time. Figures. Just another mysterious delay. Maybe he's pissing out in the tunnel. I hear they do that.

I check my phone. Forty minutes left. Dammit.

Nothing to do but wait.