HOME | DD

Description
The way it started: I heard a scream. Ever since I was a kid, I never was much of a screamer. I didn't shriek, squeal...I didn't even yell. I'm sure a therapist would tell me that's my inner passive aggressiveness displaying itself. Not like I give a crap. I was sitting on the curb, drawing a picture of some wrinkly old face. I tried to add extra detail to impress the passerby, but I wasn't getting anywhere. Tough crowd. Then again, it was New York. It was really kind of pathetic, waking up every morning, putting on my rattiest clothes, carrying my sketch board and pencils down to a busy curb and setting up shop for the day, like the parasitic leach of society that I was. It disgusted me. Not that I let them know that. Act cheerful, act charming, act desperate. I looked up. The 8:16 train was late. Bad for their busy schedules, good for me. At first I thought the scream was some bratty kid, but it was a little too feminine for that. Drama queens. I rolled my eyes. Probably just a rat. I noticed a guy to my left put down his newspaper. It's amazing what you can pick up when everything is muscle memory. People started shuffling more than usual. Uneasiness. Some started. I kept drawing lines. They told me later I went through the whole thing with my eyes closed, rocking back and forth, drawing and drawing. They said it was probably the shock. I honestly can't remember. I just saw a sea of arms and limbs and faces parting and people scrambling like there was hell after them. I remember bodies hitting the floor, some moving, some not. I remember loud popping sounds, like a dud firework going off, while the 8:16 came screaming into the station and chaos broke loose. I saved that drawing. It was an old lady's face. The wrinkles were jagged and misplaced and her eyes were bulging. I should have just thrown it away. I have all sorts of freak collectors wanting to buy it from me now. I could use the money I guess. Not that I give a crap.