|
Sunday |
 |
2 transit
police ride through the waiting room on mountain bikes, knocking on benches
and waking people up--"gentleman, i hope you're all waiting for trains."
it seems unnecessary and rude. there's
plenty of room and it's cold
outside. i photograph them because i have a special interest in applied bicycling. my battery dies. i find an outlet and plug my charger in.
one cop comes over and looks at it, asks me if it's mine, says i can't do that. why? no legitimate reason of course, but he claims i'm stealing from his company. no more than if i use the electric hand-dryer. it could be a bomb, he replies. i show it to him: Canon. really? these are very strange times... i could've said, if you think this is a bomb you need to go back to school. but i know he's not that dumb. not even paranoid. just looking for ways to justify: his job, his day, his life. i sit back down and wait. it's quiet and time oozes by. |
