Men all across the subway platform assume the same poise, the same childhood. All those fancy jackets turn to smoke and I feel like a father, like a lonely little boy. My shoes are dirty, my tie is sitting in a closet halfway across the country, and I’m a bit confused about what time it is.
I’m interested in saving a few souls. In fact, I was so interested I put an ad on Craigslist and it got a couple hits. Every night I go to bed and ask myself why more people didn’t want their souls saved. I wonder, did I say something wrong? Do I smell? Is it because religion makes me queasy? I tell myself everyone gets that, but for some reason that doesn’t make me feel better.
Maybe if I didn’t have a nose things would be simple. I’d wake up and turn my body off and speed right through my to do list. Maybe I’d do a book tour. It’d be for all those friends I forgot about it. After a week I’d vomit a few times and start jogging. Probably tell myself that the book tour was a farce and go visit my parents. The acoustic guitar would smile at me from across the room and I’d feel a bit too much nostalgia to pick it up. This would be when I’d finally realize I just needed to turn my body back on.
So I’d flick a switch, rewrite my book, go back on tour. This time I’d wear sunglasses and keep my hair down. I’d try to shave but forget. And I’d start doing laughing yoga. It’d be hard but I’d be ready.
Gabe Kahan is a poet, freelance writer, undercover zine creator, and the founding editor of the literature and arts journal, Taxicab Magazine. He lives and writes in both DC and New York, where he mixes up the words “metro” and “subway” on a regular basis.