On the way back into the bowels of the city via the bowels of the city I saw a man. He was an older man wearing safari shorts, a fishing hat, and golf shirt avec shoulder bag. As I glanced up and down the subway car, not giving a shit on this particular evening about who I stared at, stared down, or really giving any shit as to what I was doing... I saw him sitting way down the car.

He had on sunglasses, too.

Something in my brain clicked when I looked for the second time- about the right age, size, height, right amount of baldness, everything: this was Hunter S. Thompson.

For the whole ride I swore it was him and made up an entire scenario whereby he'd faked his suicide and was now travelling around undetected, except by me, for I am the only one who'd be able to pick him out of a crowd (especially given that I've never met him). Me only me, and yes it was him. No question.

Then I closed my eyes for a few to wash away the world for a few and, upon reopening them, saw that he'd taken off his sunglasses.

Along with the image of his stupid eyes came the shredding of my fantasy.

~fin~