Accidently taking.

A girl on the subway is listening to her headset, lip-syncing, and bobbing, or more accurately banging, her head. Her eyes are getting all contorted, squinty-like -- you can tell that she really feels it. Somehow (someone must have told her) our eyes catch, as if when lugging an over-sized bag through a turnstile. The glint is lost -- her exuberance settles down into the muck, the riverbed of the subway. Unsuccessfully, I stir the silt with my feet, hoping to fling it back into the air. Her attention bores into her lap, and I am sorry.

Vague Maps

Gazing up at the street-sign you retrieve the map from your pocket. The territory is unfamiliar -- the map is worn, creased. Noting an unfamiliar symbol you refer to the key.

A curse drifts out from under your breath, or did you only utter it in your head? At least 40% of the characters are Cyrillic. That's up from 20% last time. 35% aren't used in the map. 15% are upside down -- a teenage girl in over sized leather boots stifles laughter as she notes your sideways deciphering. At least one third of the symbols refer only to specific pages in War and Peace. The other half are more or less cogent.

You find your location on the map just as a snow plow drives by, splashing you with lemon juice that looks, smells, and tastes like water. But the rainbow it creates, briefly cast above the sewage drain, has the texture of a lemon rind.

On the map, you note that the intersection is marked with footnote #5*. The corresponding entry reads "Spice Up Your Life," -- The Spice Girls. The feel of lemon peel fresh on your mind, you sit down on the curb, find the song on your iPod, and hit play.