A Tranqover

A gap toothed man grinned at me on the train this evening. His face looked like he sharpened razor blades on it. The gap is a missing tooth.

The lights went out. I never thought a city could taste soundless. Is this what the inside of a cement mixer feels like? Without the cement.

There was a boar in a bowler. On the train? Yes. His hair was brown and grey, a badly dressed businessman with a snout. I project, but he looked middle aged.

We three formed a drum circle near the door. I’d earlier split a tree into kindling. Lit a fire. I put on cleats. They got stuck in the ridges on the floor.

People at the other end of the train asked to join us. They had fruit snacks, otherwise we would have said no. They tasted like embalming fluid. And pomegranates.

I woke up under a semi-truck, wrapped in an aqua carpet. My first thought: Who uses aqua for their carpeting?