"The subway ride to Colombia is far. It was like really scary to do by yourself? It was like half an hour *gum snap*. The people were weird? I wish this was a new train? Where are we going again. I'd much rather go to nyu. What's that smell? Ugh I almost fell?!"
The subway is dirty. The crazy people who live here have more of a right to talk as loudly as you are right now. That tall blank guy singing California dreamin on an out of tune guitar, that old woman completely decked out in gold lemay, that other old woman that can take a single step forward with out arching backing and throwing all her wait forward while at the same time yelling "Aaaahhhhhhh shit" (she does this with every step), the little drunk Mexican who fell asleep and sneezed on my arm, the fat black lady who sat on half my thigh, and the man who finished off a whole bottle of sleeping pills while everyone watched as he slipped away (I'm disgust mind you. Don't worry I told he conductor. Wonder what happened to him). All of these people the crazy the smelly the dead eyed commuters the insanely agitated and opinionated middle aged women with eccentric fashion tastes, they all belong here. New York loves them. New York doesn't love you though, new York doesn't even like you, new York wouldnt walk across the street to piss in your mouth if your teeth were on fire. So stop complaining. Next time take a cab.