Freaks on the Subway.

Philadelphia.

I was waiting on the platform for the arrival of the subway train. A tall black man was also waiting. Since I've returned to the city, I've seen him twice before this particular instance. He's easily recognizable. My pair of previous sightings of him were memorable because he was dressed like a Confederate general. This is an odd wardrobe choice for a black man, considering those who wore gray coats in the Civil War would see him in chains, tilling the soil on their plantations if they had their way. Maybe this guy goes for the "ironic" look, in line with the hipsters of our generation. But he looks like he's in his thirties, closer to forty, which would distance him from the usual "alt" lifestyle the younger people are choosing these days. He sprays his hair on, too.

But this time, he was no Southern separatist. He was Morpheus, ready to free the mind of someone caught up in The Matrix. He wore a long black trench coat that shined in the florescent lights of the station. Shades tightly hugged his face and completely hid his eyes. He stood still, arms folded behind his back, as he waited for the train, tall and imposingly looming over the track. His fake hair also reflected the lights to create something like a little halo. For a moment I saw him as a tortured guardian angel, garrisoned underground to protect the light in the darkness of the tunnels below the streets of the city.

I thought about the MRT (Mass Rapid Transit) stations in Taipei. The distinct odor of maple syrup wafts around those stations, new and sparkling, with little aquariums that house exotic fishes. I snapped out of it and the mysterious figure next to me became just another freak in the piss stench of the subway station.

Philadelphia.

The train pulled up and the first thing I noticed when I boarded was a old woman with a contorted face seated near the door. She was flailing her arms around her head and mumbling a lot of gibberish, directed at no one in particular, incoherent to me or anyone else on that subway car, yet seeming to hold significant meaning for her. The man in the trench coat sat behind her.

Third.

The crisis continued to add to the country’s difficulties as it strained to cope with widespread death, destruction and displacement from.

Workers have been dousing reactors and spent-fuel pools at the plant with water to prevent full meltdowns while they frantically try to restore power and restart the cooling systems, but the resulting floods of dangerously contaminated water have complicated their efforts. On Thursday workers prepared more tanks for transferring the water from turbine buildings at Reactors 1, 2 and 3 in a quest to keep the radioactive water from flooding into the ocean.

Title No 2.

I got of the bus in Xiaguang, which is a very very small city in the middle of nowhere, China. I was greeted by a bunch of taxi drivers wanting to give me a ride to Dali, where I was headed. The were very aggressive, particularly one, who had a lump on his face. He was pulling on my arm, insisting I go with him, because he was offering the cheapest price anyone would offer. I told them, a group of eight, that I would walk, and they all laughed. Finally one man offered me a low price and I got on his motorbike. I delivered a mocking Goodbye to the man with the lump, and could see by his expression that I had offended him - and the others laughed as I sped away.


Later we were all having a conversation with another, Chinese, guest at the hostel. I was stumbling over some Mandarin word when I uttered a harsh "T", which produced a spec of spittle that flew from my mouth and landed on the pretty woman's face. The man I had previously insulted handed her a tissue and complimented the natural flow of my Chinese. Everyone laughed at his sarcasm, and at me for having too much drool, and at the woman because I just spit in her face. The man and I shared a glance. I had the feeling that even though both of us had lost -- somehow he and I were now even.

"Get the fuck away from me, you shit-for-brains retards!"

They all laughed.

Finally I found a woman sitting in her taxi who didn't find my Chinese amusing and was willing to use her meter. She revved her engine and started off. One of the men from the crowd said,

"Bye in Hell, you stupid motherfuckers!"

A Title for One Post.

Upon return to Bangkok, I ran into Michel, the 67 year old Swiss hedonist I had met over a month earlier.

"I need to see a doctor," I told him.

"You need to see some girlss!" he said.

We went to Pattaya, renowned for its sleaziness. By the time I got there, I was in severe pain all over my body. Michel took me to the hospital, where I learned my fever had reached 104 degrees (Fahrenheit). I saw a doctor, who pumped me full of good drugs. I lay on the bed in the ER with a huge smile on my face induced by what must have been some opiate. The fever broke and sweat drenched my clothing. My face turned red hot as the skin expelled the heat from within. Then I argued with the business woman about insurance for two hours.

We finished our beers and went off, along the whore-lined pathway, all the way to the walking street, which looked like Las Vegas without the casinos. Just huge strip joints and seafood restaurants for a stretch of about a mile. And there was a really good Thai Elvis impersonator.