Two L stories

Story #1: Gross
There's a really fat, really crazy woman who takes up two seats and covers herself with a big dirty quilt. She smells awful and gibbers to herself. Every so often she clears her throat or coughs or something and it's so loud everyone on the car jumps, even at rush hour. I mean it'll really scare the shit out of you if you're sitting near her. One time it was clear from the sound of things that she'd coughed up something really big. I looked over and saw her slowly finger-painting on the window with it.

Story #2: Eerie
When I take the train home from school at night, there are usually some DePaul students coming home from their downtown performances. You can tell by their bulky instruments, unceasing cell phone conversations, or evidence that they were just on a stage, such as their ability to make their voices carry throughout the car when they shout random lines at each other or the "audience."

Two students were sitting behind me singing to each other. Their voices were soft but powerful - obviously trained, not like if I were singing a song to somebody. I was like, "Prima donnas," but it didn't really bother me since it was quiet and I just kept on reading. But their duet was impossible to ignore. It was intricate, in a minor key, and went on and on. They sung it just above a whisper but intensely, and so close to my ears, I got shivers. I only pretended to read about rheumatoid arthritis until we got to the DePaul stop. They got off and I heard from outside a final operatic holler from the guy.

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We picked our condo primarily on the basis of its location relative to the L. Sometimes now I walk down (or up) the stairs to the train and I'm just amazed that something so prosaic could be worth so much money to me.  

¶ 3:03 PM