alex, stop blogging, it makes you look like you have no life.

and you would NOT be wrong about that!!

but i keep forgetting to report an event i experienced yesterday when leaving the train station.

"bad day at the office," slurred a drunken nothing, buried in his scuffed brown coat and his eyes rolling around above deep ugly wrinkles. "it'sssss always a bad day."

silently (and used to it) trudie, brittany, nikki and i stood in all our Obviously-Just-Come-From-College-Clutching-Our-Meaningless-Folders-We-Are-Young-Please-Don't-Hurt-Us glory, staring at this man, as he delved inside his coat and said (i use that term very loosely) "weelll, ya know WOT?" here ("i thought he was going to pull out a gun, man" said nikki later) he withdrew a hefty, hefty bottle of vodka and swung it in front of our faces. "i don't FUCKINGGG caaree.." (when written down, i've come to realise that the way he talks is the way that most teenage girls write on facebook and MSN. is this worrying? does this invoke concern within you? most of you - yes, you, i have an "audience" dominated by females - write the same way that a 50 year old drunken man talks. doesn't it? concern you? no?) he took a long, napoleon-dynamite-esque swig from the bottle and stumbled forward.
"neither do i," i heard myself say, then, "what did you say that for, you fucking idiot" said my brain. "it was so quiet," i heard my brain say back to itself.

he turned to me, and i could see all the veins pulsating in his face, patches of pink and yellow scattered across his skin and cracks in his tired lips. "whhaat?"
..."i said... i don't.. i don't care either. about. me. not you." WHAT THE FUCK ALEX.
"..ohhh," was his witty reply, and he proceeded to follow nikki and trudie along the pavement as they walked away.
and watching his uninspired, uncared about and filthy back stumbling into the distance i thought,

somebody gave birth to him.
birth certificates. baby books. stretch marks.
somebody stroked their bulging belly and wondered if he would be a boy or a girl.
somebody got up at 3 oclock in the morning and rocked his restless body until they felt like screaming, but i bet they didn't scream.
somebody stared at the back of his head in primary school and thought about sending him a valentine. somebody kissed him.
maybe, possibly, at one point in his life, somebody loved him?

or maybe i'm just romanticising this entire event.
he's just a drunk at a train station, alex.