The Impossible Commute

I bussed out to the Vienna metro station in the dark trying to get to the inauguration. Everything was chaotic; half of the metro fare machines were broken and the rest were being used by swarms of college students. I'd try my best to get up to one but it never seemed to happen; someone always beat me to it as this was a free-for-all and there were no lines. I frantically looked out the windows and down the escalators to see trains coming and going at lightning speed, each packed with crazed inauguration-goers.

I finally gave up on trying to get to a machine and retired to the corner of the room with vendors. There was a young lady selling sets of Crayola crayons and I spoke to her about her business and my brand loyalty to her company. I picked up a coloring book on the table and flipped though it. It contained simple images of fruit, flowers, and various other things found in nature. I told the young lady that I would buy something from her but I don't have kids. I awkwardly told her I had to go and I recall her laughing while speaking in that really fake sort of way that the hostesses of my mom's jewelry, candle, or scrapbooking parties would when talking business. She gave me her card before I walked off.

I stood before the entrance of the metro station and realized that I wouldn't be able to go to the inauguration. I also realized that I could see my breath. I looked down and I was wearing shorts.