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As I feel him stirring and hardening, I reach back and grab that, oh so fine ass I had been looking at, and I picture it again the way it was when his back was turned. When you're nice and high, you have time to think all kinds of stuff.He hands me the joint and I lean back a bit to take another big hit (and to give him a look down my dress). "Huh" he says."Yeah, huh" I reply as I put the joint in his mouth an he takes a pull.Some ladies come in, sniff (smelling the weed-I'm sure), giggle, do their business and leave. But then someone's rapping on the door of the stall."You in there Tray?" comes the same female voice who told me she could score me some weed "right here"; well, she scored me something else, "right here", I'm thinking - being way too high to even feel the remotest sense of panic."Yeah, baby" Tray replies. Tray, huh...yeah, okay: Tray xxooo...... He half turns and unlocks the stall, and we both have to move to let the door open inward. Latisha slides through, and then. An older gentleman frowned through the white scruff salt-and-peppering his cheeks as he peered down his pointed nose, pretending to read the newspaper in his hands. As he adjusted his furry hat, he may have wondered how his ex-wife was doing and why his daughter never calls anymore.A dark-haired man in a black dress coat was playing intently with the phone between his legs. The messages on the screen painted a perpetual smirk on his bearded face. Dressed like that, he was probably on his way to or from a snazzy date with a pretty, albeit vapid girl.The automated female voice sang out a series of names and directives as the train approached each station. One by one, the passengers in the other car stood obediently to the sound of her siren song and disembarked from the train.Her eyes wandered out to the platform and watched them trudge grudgingly towards the inevitable winter cold awaiting them at the surface. The doors whooshed shut, and they disappeared forever to live their lives.
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