Commuting – for Pyro

Thanking God that I didn’t have to face the 7th level of hell known as NYC Transit for my morning commute, I walked towards the Ferry. I forgotten it was raining so that meant everybody had to squeeze into the dry overhang downstairs. You followed me and we picked a spot to stand up towards the back of the boat. Commuters, dressed in corporate uniforms of light blue shirts, black skirts and black coach briefcases, getting their Daily dose of News, Journals and Times crowded around us. You stood behind me as I gripped the pole for support. The boat dipped from side to side as the waters were pelted with angel tears.

“Are you ready to ride,” you whispered in my ear leaning in close letting me smell the drakar noir you put on this morning. Immediately the hudson we floated on couldn’t begin to match me for sheer wetness of water. you put your hands on my back to steady me and breathed in my ear. shivering with the tingles you were generating, I leaned back into you. there i felt my cocoacure rising to great me good morning again. perhaps you, like i, were remembering this morning activities and why we were both going to be late to work. i began my daily grind with my hips moving up and down and you reached around to pull me closer. alas the boat pulled into the ferry dock and the commuters began to spill from the boat like ants from a open ant hill. we didn’t move. we looked at each other and said – “let’s call in sick”

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