Something Sour & Unsavory

Tawdry, soiled, and public, is the overall skin-crawly feeling to riding the Ass Chariot of Fire. Yes you constantly rationalize, but each time your fingernails scrap along the rigid plastic armrest you know dark crusty shavings of all before you are now at home under your index finger and maybe a few more digits.

Ten or fifteen minutes pass and that piece of annoying bit of skin that is flapping on your chapped lower lip finally gets the best of you. You yank it with proud vigor and instantly remember the dark scrungy armrest shavings that you now have just licked your lip cuz the premature chapped lip skin you yanked is now bleeding a tiny bit. You now have every numb-assed slob's hands co-mingling in your bloodstream.

You are now assimilated and one with the ACF Borg. Part vampire, part commuter Zombie.
I am now one of them. Hell is full and the un-dead commuters ride back and forth. Nothing can kill us. We just whine, whinge and get annoyed but never stop riding.