I spent the past weekend visiting Zach, my friend and fellow PCV from
The next day Zach and I took a long walk around town. The last time I was
When we returned home, we decided to make Buffalo wings. Zach’s from
On Sunday Zach and I got up late and decided to go to the
After that I boarded the train home. I was pretty tired, and the train car was bouncing and swaying in such a way as to lull me to sleep. I slouched in the chair and dozed off, waking periodically to find little pools of drool had gathered on my shirt. I’m sure the girl sitting across from me thought I was a complete slob.
I was suddenly jolted to consciousness when a slew of people noisily entered the cabin. One of them had a cell phone blaring music. Another had a portable television with an extremely long antenna (that when fully-extended came precariously close to my face). He kept saying something like, “Seven-thirty. It’s at , right?” I could only guess he was talking about the time at which a show would be airing. With the cabin noisier, more crowded and hotter, there wasn’t really much hope of falling back asleep. So, I pulled out my copy of Newsweek. Seven-thirty rolled around and the man turned on his TV. He kept moving the it around, holding it at different angles, and adjusting the antenna in an attemept to perfect the reception. Apparently he got the best reception when he held the TV on the knee of the man sitting next to him. I heard a voice coming through the little speaker, it was rattling off numbers. Evidently, the man had brought the TV along so he wouldn’t miss the lotto drawing. He asked for the pen from my hand so he could mark down the numbers. I obliged. Eventually he gave it back and I decided to draw corny fruit/vegetable comics on the cover of my Newsweek— I had grown tired of reading. I drew one cartoon with a tomato talking to corn on the cob. The tomato says, “I feel rotten.” The corn responds, “Need an ear?”