the unsatisfied storyteller
As I'm finding the words...
I draw her in my head like a cartoon, like a Matt Groening drawing, all yellow skin with odd round teeth and frizzy yellow hair under a hat that looks like a dead black cat. She doesn't turn all the way around to harass the elderly couple behind her but instead turns in profile and flaps words out the right side of her mouth. I have my headphones in and can't hear the conversation but the dialogue in my head has her detailing to them her life as the mistress of a crackhouse, caring for whores and addicts, while the poor elderly couple nods disgruntledly and direly hopes that she'll get off the train sometime soon. They all get off together at a later stop and I realize she's with them and not a crack mistress at all. For some reason I find this really disappointing, it's far more satisfying when the stories I write in my head are true.