august philippic

On subway platforms, he was always convinced that a maniac would push him in front of a train, and that his parents would think it was suicide.  He took various precautions — sitting down when  he could, grasping available girders, positioning himself behind solid-looking passengers.  He was often concocting homicidal scenarios in which he was victim of a reckless cab driver, a drunk college student, a cop.  Respite from these fantasies came only when he could concentrate on something very intensely, as this morning, when he sat looking at the patterns of sunshine on the brick facade of a nearby building.  Soon the brick was not brick and the city not a city, but everything was a canvas, and he felt safe, as if in a museum.

Tags: august //