The Prophet

This morning both the 4 train and the 6 train are not very crowded. Again I get a seat on both. On the 4 train there is a man sitting next to me with a homeless person cart. Homeless people always have a cart of some sort, stuffed to the brim with all of their belongings as well as various articles of garbage. However he was very clean-cut, wearing khakis and a blazer and did not smell. Perplexed that the pieces didn’t add up, I studied him for a bit. Then I realized he was reading one of those bible/religious/sermon/who-knows-what pamphlets very intently. He must be one of those Mormons or other people who goes around spreading the Lord’s word. He doesn’t try to spread anything to me. I turn my attention away from his book back to my own.


On this week’s commute I have been reading a collection of short stories by Miranda July. I have to admit I only bought the book because we share the same first name. I figured anyone else named Miranda has to be at least somewhat smart and interesting. The book is not good though. It is the kind of thing that intellectual literary critic-types probably go ape shit for however I apparently am not brilliant enough to get it.