metro monday xiv: an open letter to boris

dear boris:


i noticed you the second i stepped on the train, your beady eyes peering out from those 1980s reading glasses. i think the shades of grey and dirt brown in your mangy fur hat really accentuated the dullness of your features. but boris, why did you think it was ok to take up both seats as you read the paper? boris, didn't you realize it was rush hour? as i watched you stick your thumb and index and middle fingers into your mouth, moisten the pages of the metro express and harshly turn to the next page, i wondered how such a worldly man could be so oblivious to the faux pas he was committing.


but then, boris, in walked karma, in the form of a lumbering, six-foot-three, seventy year old man. he walked right up to you and told you to move it. he struggled to fit all of himself into the seat next to you ... but he was a fighter, boris. and he made it. his elbows invaded your personal space as he spread out his express, and his nostrils were moist like a little kid playing in the cold too busy to wipe his nose. and i thought i saw a wave of realization (or disgust?) cross your face, boris. this is what happens when you are a dick during rush hour and don't let others sit ... you get stuck next to this guy and his runny nose.


i hope you've learned your lesson.