To the gentleman who was wearing a black button-down shirt, black slacks, black shoes, and carrying a novel that was well in excess of two thousand pages:
When you stepped off the train at the Lawrence Red Line stop and lit up a cigarette in a perfect fluid motion with one hand before you even planted your second foot on the station platform, the way you whipped your head back and screamed “suck my DICK!” in a sing-songy baritone in immediate response to the train operator saying “sir, there is no smoking on the train platform” over the train PA speakers, and you walked away with the cigarette fully bright and hanging loose off the right side of your mouth, I felt that there should be some kind of musical tribute to you.
no doubt on his way to crush it at the green mill. genius.
