So many fucking stories

Line 9, late
Going home, drunk, tired
As I board the train
There’s a guy laying on the floor
He’s not all there
He’s sucking his thumb
Looks like no pain though
Good for him

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Marc is done rumbling


Going home
Late on Line 9
There’s Marc, gray hair
“I’m a designer,” he says
“Ho,” I say
“I designed a flacon for Dior,”
“Great,” I say
“You know, they don’t care about my work
I’m just budget studies
To design their flacon
It’s way above me
What I did, nobody will ever care
And now it’s the end of the line for me.”
“Line 9,” I said.
“Yep, Line 9,” he said.

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