i hate rush hour.
coming home for me is like being squeezed into a sardine can.
all that pushing and shoving just to get on the train…
its like a fight to see who can get and stay on.
people don’t even give a fuck either.
they will squeeze themselves in a tight spot just to get in.
this someone squeezed himself in my tight spot and…
so when i got on the train,
it was packed.
i was at the right hand corner by the door.
this butter ball vixen decided she wanted to push herself inside.
damn near cutting off my oxygen.
when she got off at the next stop,
this fine ass wolf got on.
he was taller than me,
he had on a tight white v neck,
light blue jeans,
and crisp air force 1s.
the shirt gripped his body…
and his arms…
oh his arms…
if i had a pussy,
it would have been:
well he decided he was going to face me as he got on.
by this time,
i am literally in his chest cleavage.
he had the “bk brandon situation” going on:
thank god i had my dark glasses on.
i was able to gawk and not be caught up.
i could faintly smell his cologne too.
it was like a polo type of sporty scent.
he reached over to grab onto the rail and i rode him…
we rode all the way to his stop.
i wanted to follow him off the train.
he was THAT fine.
i wanted to take a picture so bad,
ya know to remember the moment,
but i couldn’t move.
i was stuck in the position of:
“both hands on my bag”
it made me hungry for some meat.
massive juicy meat like that.
i’m hoping to get some this summer.
its been a while.