So I’m walking through the Roosevelt Avenue Station and out of the corner of my eye I see this heavyset woman and I think to myself, “I love her pants, but she is way to fat for that shirt.” About 2 minutes later, I see her again and I think, “Mmm, not so sure about the pants, her butt looks huge. Cute haircut though.” I turn a corner and there she is again! At first I think “I don’t really like her hair. Color is great, but the cut? Meh. And her shoes? Don’t get me started! She’s basically a hot mess. Fat, frumpy, old, shoes from Aerosoles”. Then as I enter the train I see her across from me. Bitch is stalking me! Wait a minute! That’s not just some random fat stalker! That’s me! I’ve been catching my reflection in the plate glass windows. In the last few years I’ve come so far from myself, even I don’t recognize me. It happens so gradually. The years go by and suddenly you find yourself in a galaxy far, far away. In the cosmos of graceful aging, I made a left instead of a right and seem to have missed my stop. I could just drift along, waiting for a spaceship going my way, but there is not always another one coming along right behind this one, no matter what they say. I’m gonna have to take dark matters into my own hands. I guess I’ll just flag down the Man in the Moon and hitch a ride.
The Man in the Moon