snow. just a light dusting. makes for a lot of crunching sounds under foot.

20 degrees. just at the cutoff for tolerable weather conditions. 19 may as well be 10 below where i'm concerned, but 20 is doable.

rushing for train. even though i'm not really late. this new gig doesn't care when i turn up as long as i put in my eight hours, so i shoot for 8:30 but don't get my panties in a wad if it is more like 9. mud on the hem of my baby blue cords.

headphones on. the cooper temple clause. right now, it's about bands with ridiculous sounding long names. mull historical society, preston school of industry, electric soft parade. take that U2. having been financially restricted from indulging my voracious appetite for musical consumption for quite some time now, i feel a binge coming on. purchasing See Through This And Leave simply fed my hunger without sating it. one minute, oasis; the next, radiohead; then, primal scream; later, travis and finally, hedwig and the angry inch. highly recommended.

sitting across from me. a low-rent Patrick Bateman ten years later, complete with Investor's Business Daily and slicked back black hair (bit of advice: when one's hairline has receded THAT far and one's hair has thinned THAT much, slicked back is in need of a rethink). it truly is the 80's. i won't bother to describe his costume. can't out-Bret-Easton-Ellis Bret Easton Ellis.

in the station at State & Lake. some woman, walking steadfastly against the flow of traffic, is waving frantically toward one of the cars. I assume that she has noticed someone familiar on the train. not so. there is not one person in the car looking even remotely in her direction, but this does not dissuade. in fact, she seems only to gesticulate more forcefully toward the passenger only she can perceive. ah.

leaving the platform at State & Lake. traffic jam. a queue, at least four folks wide and 25 deep, a massive wave of commuters, streams toward the exit, slowly, methodically making its way up, up, up the stairs and escalator. this sticks in my mind because i can't remember once feeling like cows to the slaughter in a muni or bart station. why is that? are the stations designed differently? not sure. odd.

street level, State & Lake. this guy hawking the Sun-Times is wearing a brown ski mask, reminding me of the villians on last night's Smallville who could walk through walls because they tattooed themselves with meteor-rock juice. yes, i know, meteor-rock juice. ski mask = evil. i'm bemused, frightened, off balance. there are pigeons dive-bombing his stack of rags. commuters caught in the cross-fire. maybe they know about the meteor-rock juice. maybe they know i know about the meteor-rock juice. i slip by, unnoticed and unscathed.