The Tunnel: Reimagined

The Tunnel: Reimagined

Taylor Heussner

the dog on my left is wearing better clothes than the person to my right as I walk down West Fourth. bleach is poured into the streets to zero out the smell of beer induced vomit from the night before.
I quickly run through my thoughts, settling on that wasn’t puke from me.
my stomach lurches, but I keep walking.
             the crazed man is yelling again.
                      pussy pussy you’re all fuckin pussy, he shouts.
                                I wonder what drug he is on.
                                            I wonder if I’ve ever done it I don’t think so,
                                                         but then again, I’ve never been homeless and been on a
                                               trip.
I dip down into the subway, saying no to the homeless man who lives on West 3rd.
            how did he get there. I wonder how much money
                       the subway system makes.
 my friend told me her friend died down there;
                  she got hit by a train.
                              I tried to imagine the feeling that must have coursed through her body,
                                         tried to imagine the image of lights she saw as she realized, this is it.
                                                 if she tried to jump out. if she wanted that to be her way to go.
                                                          I kept these thoughts from my friend.
                                                          just said the im sorrys and thei can’t imagines.
                                             you know when you drink with another person at their house and
                             say stuff you might regret the next morning so you let it slide over and you
                             help the process by staying neutral?
 
I want things to stop being neutral.
I want exclamations! And LOUDNESS!
I want to yell back to that pussy man I AM NOT A PUSSY
without being scared of getting punched in the face.
I want to throw the subway homeless man ALL my money
because the world is ending anyways, lets fucking be SPONTANEOUS!
I want to tell my friend that her friend might not be in a better place
or maybe she is I don’t FUCKING know but I like to think about
what could be out there after death, and that her death was when
it was meant to be, and not some freakish accident because why
are we always blaming the design of life on accidents and coincidences
not on placed events and reason?
 
All I know is that fucking dog on my left receives fine steak and good clothing, and that man on my right, probably hasn’t tasted anything worth eating in YEARS,
 
and I am doing absolutely nothing to change it
               and I can’t blame that on anything
                            but myself.

 

 

Ripening

Ripening

Tiny Apartments

Tiny Apartments