I Was Reading

I was reading in a subway station, waiting for the train. The train came, so I put the book in my bag and got on.

I was reading in a subway station, waiting for the train. A stranger stood in front of me. There was a cryptic design on the back of his tee-shirt, so I folded the book across my lap and stared.

I was reading in a subway station, waiting for the train. Suddenly, a mugger came out of nowhere, tore the volume right out of my hands, and sprinted off, looking for the nearest used-bookseller that wouldn’t ask him for an ID.

I was reading in a subway station, waiting for the train. There was a suspicious abandoned package, and the bomb squad came, and they made me stand hundreds of feet away, and I missed my train, and it was all very distracting.

I was reading in a subway station, waiting for the train. I reached into my purse for some Chapstick. It was somewhere at the bottom, so I was in there for quite some time...When I looked up again, I realized that I was sitting directly under a leak in the ceiling. In my lap was a small puddle of water and a mass of pulp where the book used to be.

I was reading in a subway station, waiting for the train. A dog ate the book and smiled at me, obviously awaiting more reading material.

I was reading in a subway station, waiting for the train. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a guy I knew in high school whom I hadn’t seen in ages. We had dated for a year, and as he entered and just as suddenly exited my peripheral vision, I found I was still madly in love with him. He was ascending the staircase, his back to me, his shapely back unmistakably his; I leapt up, book in hand, and raced after him, jostling through the impenetrable crowd. As the crowd thinned, I began to run; I couldn’t even see him anymore but I had to find him, to tell him how I felt. Instead, I knocked over a large, older woman carrying a box full of magazines. Despite my primal urge to find this boy, to have this chance meeting, to try and charm him once again, my conscience would not let me do anything but help the older woman stand up and gather her things. He had escaped. It was not until several minutes later that I realized the older woman had made off with my book, and that I held one of her trashy gossip magazines. I read it on the train cover to cover.

I was reading in a subway station, waiting for the train. The train never came. The people waited for days and days. We pissed on the tracks and slept on the hard, cold floors, spooning in our desperation for warmth. All we had to eat were the Twix bars and Hostess Twinkies in the vending machines, and we were running out of change. The second night we decided to light a bonfire, and I offered up the book to use as fuel.

I was reading in a subway station, waiting for the train. Gradually, I just...lost interest.

I’m sorry I didn’t get to finish the novel you recommended me. I’m sure I’ll get to it eventually.