Dear Mr. Very Fat Man on the E Train

This morning walking to the subway I felt like I was walking through a shaken snow globe. Powdery flakes were blanketing and softening Manhattan’s Upper East Side. It looked like a black and white photograph speckled with yellow taxis. I took a mental snapshot and decided to take my time getting to work, not letting myself get worked up in the rush hour madness.
The first train I took was crowded but fine. But when I transferred to the E train, my brain was stamped with a much yuckier image than previously described urban landscape. I went from Pretty mental image to Very Ugly on my underground cross-town jaunt.

I’d like to formerly thank the Very Fat Man on the E train.

Dear Mr. Very Fat Man on the E Train:
Thank you for taking up 3 seats instead of one; I’m glad you were able to stretch out in comfort. I was able to burn a few extra calories by standing and heck, who doesn’t want to physically bond with your fellow riders? Thank you also for the cacophony of sounds you were producing as you slumbered in front of your subway audience. The snoring orchestra that went on for 6 stops was louder than my iPod would go and what a treat. Thank you, additionally, for the profound sneeze you made when you woke up for that brief second. I’m glad that I was far enough away to avoid the nasal explosion, although the pregnant woman standing in front of you probably wished she was wearing surgical scrubs for protection. Finally, thank you for that surprising kick out you did with your enormous work boots. Usually the kick out wakes people up – but alas, you delved deeper into subway dreams.
Thanks for the memories, Mr. Very Fat Man.
Love,
Me.
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