30th street station
I was stoned when I got in the cab this morning at 7 AM. I asked the cab driver about the town and we ended up talking about the 76rs and basketball. I told her I liked the music on the radio and she told it me it was Babyface, so we both sat in silence and let him take over. I had wrapped a joint up in a Dutch candy wrapper that had a butterscotch hard toffee which was given as an after dinner mint of sorts from Russ & Daughters in Manhattan. I saved the wrapper to use in a collage that ended up being a pen and postcard flyer for my show in Brooklyn. I would end up flushing the joint in the men’s bathroom of the train station when I saw police patrolling with a police dog. I’ve heard those dogs are decoys and will leap and bark on command. I was up against a German Shepard and the foot soldiers of the corporatized bureaucracy we call democracy and though every time I’ve fought the law I’ve won, they’ve always made sure to knock me out of the race for a few weeks or months or set me back several paychecks and months of rent. The joint wouldn’t flush down the drain though so I reached into the just flushed toilet bowl and plucked out the rolled up candy wrapper, emptied it back into the bowl, flushed again. A sign in the bathroom posted so it was seen upon entering in said that Philadelphia Police and plainclothes officers patrolled the restroom so naturally I assumed the man with the mountain boots in the stall across from me was a NARC and that I’d soon be in cuffs. When I left the restroom, the facility was empty and I checked myself in the mirror again. The station was finally awake, the sounds of baristas tamping their coffee, businessmen and women loudly and importantly talking on their conference calls, the search dogs had vanished, the police officers gone. My train had arrived and I found my way to an empty seat where I could sleep off the rest of my reefer madness.