Token Sucking by Matthew Dexter

Getting lost in labyrinth of New York City subway system eats me alive, drunk on beer, fake I.D. in pocket–not fake in fact but somebody’s driver’s license–some accomplished stranger who slightly resembles my face only says I’m ten years older; some twenty-nine year old Joe Blow friend of my buddy’s, lost again, where did he go? Found him sitting on different train an hour after first lost him; so happy to have him back, see his Irish face: pale blue eyes, skinny sapphire cold with innocuous ice, ecstatic to be back with the only one who can lead me out of this maze, subterranean teenage mutant ninja turtles, but where is he? Where the hell is he? Oh no, not again, sitting alone on ground platform back against the wall surrounded by cops, about four or five NYPD, two bad ones, couple good ones laughing, asking for identification; call my numbers on walkie-talkie. Horrified and waiting for handcuffs. Plastic back in hand, convince them I’m twenty-nine and fine, walk away guys, need to find my friend.

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