27: The One Who Talks To Himself on Trains

I'm in the middle of an experience not unlike Cindy on the bus up to New Hampshire- my inability to look away from another leaves me giving out my real phone number or not ignoring the calls. It's like walking past a box of puppies or someone sleeping on a grate, something inside me starts to curl and I can't go on with out nursing that feeling, coming back to it and letting all the other small emotional catastrophes around come back and join it.


Granted, I seemed to have scared away this one with honesty, but it doesn't mean the feeling- the pity, the desire to do something, to give at honest most companionship- has left.