holy shit, you guys. last night i went through a true new york rite of passage: i barfed on the subway! i never thought this would ever happen to me, but when it's happening it feels kind of punk rock. i don't recommend it, but you know what? i kind of do!
so, after a night of drinking with friends and strangers, i stopped for falafel and went on my merry way, thinking that i'd gotten myself out of another scrape puke-free. WRONG! i feel like my body could handle the johnny walker and sarnac, but the falafel was "the straw that broke the camel's back," as they say. i got all the way to atlantic avenue, and then i threw up. technically i did not actually release vomit onto the floor of the train. i threw up in my mouth and then ran onto the subway platform when we stopped, and then you better believe i blew chunks all up in that motherfucker. i think the last time i puked in public was in 2007. i think i had a pretty good run, right?
anyway, there wasn't really anybody on the platform who saw me, so i just sat down next to a sleeping hobo and acted like nothing happened. as people began to arrive on the platform again, i kept looking over at my puke and watching people side-step it. they were all saying stuff like, "ew, gross." it was amazing! i felt kind of proud. like, yeah, i fucking did that, what of it? it was my secret, though.
there is something very picturesque about puke on a subway platform. it's like the two were made for one another, no?