I'm sitting on the end seat by the door. Sitting directly across from me is a blonde woman, and on the other side of me are two thugish looking men.
At 30th avenue, the doors open and a group of kids gets on - one girl and four guys. The girl sits next to the blonde, and the three guys stand, all while continuing their conversation. Immediately, one of them stands out, not necessarily because of what he's wearing, which is an ugly argyle sweater with skinny black jeans and oversized black sneakers, but because of his big, fat, screeching mouth.
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Even with my iPod blasting away, this little queen's voice is really distracting. I try to give him the evil eye, but I can't get enough bars. I've wasted most of my evil eye powers on my mother's bitchy tenant earlier in the day.
Queeny McArgyle Sweater laughs constantly, accompanied with exaggerated girlish mannerisms, lots of thigh-slapping, spinning around, hip-shaking, hooting, hollering, and head bopping.
I want to kill
But my suffering is nothing compared to the suffering of the blonde woman, who is unfortunately right in the middle of it all, as if part of their group. She sits there, suffering, occasionally looking at me. I look back as if to say, "Just get the hell up and move, stupid." The Queen hovers over her the whole time, violating her personal space and covering her in spittle.
Stupid Idiot Blonde sits with her head down, massaging her temple with her right hand and clutching her purse with her left.
Finally, Queeny McArgyle Sweater and his crew get off at Times Square and I turn off my iPod so that the ringing in my ears stops.
Here is a screen shot from the surveillance camera.