an open letter to our c-train, who is suddenly a little girl.

dear c-train;

you are a woman.

oh dear me, one of your rails cracked. just one, as far as i heard. a single rail breaks and your downtown stops-- all your downtown stops-- are shut down. for both trains, going both ways.

besides the fact i had to walk about 45mins in the freezing snow (without hat, without socks, and without feeling in about 70% of my limbs), i couldn't be less impressed with you right now. one rail. how long are rails? really, both trains? they do not share rails. what the hell is wrong with you that you aren't working on the coldest day in all of our thus-far winter?

i had to rub myself inappropriately in public, just to keep my thighs working! c-train, you made me rub myself inappropriately in public. and you made me make very, incredibly sad faces. oh yeah, they were sad. scale of 1-10 in sadness? 10.

what a mamby pamby train you are. cracked rails. yeesh. are they made of precious, peach-tinted depression glass? you are: a raaaging lady; a feminine volcano full of florence nightingale girly magma; a delicate pink cherry blossom of a girly girl who broke her nail and can't go to work. i didn't realize you were prancing around on little, glass slippers. cinderella.

what's that mary kay? are you crying? is it making your eye makeup run?

yours,
kaylen