Musings From the Green Line (April 30, 2013 Edition)

Musings From the Green Line

And now, we go underground. Even for a brief moment, it resembles a New York subway — especially with all the sketchy people afoot.

The dude with “North” and “Dallas” tattooed on his arms keeps staring at me. Either he wants my iPad or he thinks I’m sexy.

Inwood/Love Field Station… This is the… Green Line… Next stop… Southwestern Medical Center/Parkland Station. Get off the train, Robbie. “North Dallas” has theft and/or lust in his eyes.

There are a lot of pink and salmon colored buildings here.

Ah… Southwestern Medical Center/Parkland Station. Why do I always end up here?

No! Get off the track, pigeon! It’s not worth it!

You know what last name always makes me giggle? Billups. Why? Think about it. Amber Billups is sitting just five feet away. Hee-hee. Chauncey Billups plays in the NBA. Hee-hee. I knew a kid in school named Billups and he was gay. Hahahahahaha! Holy shit, this all rhymes… Hey, hey!

Green Line Northbound arrives in seventeen minutes… allegedly. Estimated arrival time is 11:46. I need to be at Trinity Mills Starion at 12:24.

Oh… My… God. Woman! Yes, you! Empress Wrinkles! It’s a windy day! Why are you wearing a dress that flies up and shows the whole world you are not wearing any underwear?!

And now, I demand a lobotomy. Is there a barbaric neurosurgeon here?

I can see the Downtown Dallas skyscrapers clearly and they all look like penises and sword tips. Hmm…

Now arriving… Orange Line… Train to… Beltline Station… 2 caaarrrrs…

Woman is about to pop and riding the Green Line. You’re going to give birth to the next Carrot Top. Which will be hilarious, because he’ll at least be half-Mexican.

I smell a Black & Mild… And excessive perfume. Of course, a couple of post-high school girls…

Do road worker’s vests glow in the dark? They’re e same color as my glow-in-the-dark Koosh yo-yo from 1996.

I miss my old glow-in-the-dark Koosh yo-yo from 1996.

I wonder what the pregnant woman is thinking… Wait. No I don’t.

According to Skater Steve, there was a wreck Downtown that may hinder my train arriving on time. Of course there was a wreck.

If you want to fly safe, fly Southwest.

It’s getting cloudy. It’s like Downtown Dallas is fucking/stabbing quilted toilet paper. Which is really fucking weird…

You know what would be really cool? A bear. Here. At the train station. That shit would make my day. I’d be all like “Come here, buddy.” Then I’d pet him. And give him a stick of gum since I don’t have any sandwiches or honey. But he would think it’s cool, because I’m pretty sure a bear’s breath is bad and he wants some freshness.

Random whimsy of wonderment: I wonder what riding the Green Line would be like on peyote.

It’s gotten really windy. Moreso than it was earlier. It’s also getting colder. Perhaps Mother Nature is making an appearance?

For a moment there, I thought I left my phone at the train station. There would have been no way for mere mortals to comprehend the copious uses of “shit” to which they would have been subjected. Anyway, back on the train.

Why do some women always look stoned, even though they’re not stoned at the moment. Or, maybe I have it all wrong. Sunken eyes and a drooling slack-jaw could be something else. Hmm… I smell independent research.

Goatee Gary has been staring at his hand since I got on the train. What is so damn intriguing?

Red truck. Red van. Red car. Red crotch-rocket. I will never see that again in my life.

Burbank@Denton: small, dilapidated club, convenient store, mechanic shop, grocery store, mechanic shop, INSURANCE. Welcome to Little Mexico!

That building across from Burbank Station has been without a wall for several months. Is Dallas privy to a new, radical form of modern architecture?

Almost every station on the Green Line has a RaceTrac adjacent to it. One would think it has something to do with why DART and RaceTrac have teamed up with the Free Fountain Drink promotion, but RaceTrac isn’t doing it anymore and the advertising is still everywhere. I believe we are looking at a communications breakdown.

I know that smell anywhere… That’s H22. I can feel my stomach melting because my lungs can’t stop absorbing the putrid acid that douchebags think makes them smell good.

DART’s train collection is more impressive than anything your weird uncle it together.

Walnut Hill/Denton Station. We’re right outside Little China.

H22… Still attacking senses… Must… Reach… Trinity Mills Station… Must… Set… Breath-holding… Record… Need… Guinness… To… Record… Event… And make… Me… Famous…

Ugh… I can taste it through mouth-breathing. Of course, the prick sat right behind me.

Oh, God. I’m one of THOSE people. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Passing under 635 is observing the fail that is the Texas Highway Commission.

Rain. Rain. Come this way. This is a very good day.

DART stations are advertising visitmexico.com. Every ad I’ve seen is of a family in an aquarium. I feel that’s false advertising.

Random whimsy of wonderment: One day, right when I get off the train, I would like to just leave a bag with a ticking clock on board the train. Just to see what happens. It’s the perfect prank, really. If it’s ignored by the DART 5-0, then they’ll consistently wonder what’s inside. If they call the bomb squad to remove it, they’ll look dumb. You know what would make this even better? If it was a Hello Kitty or My Little Pony backpack.

Speaking of: Oh… Morgan. Why? Why do you enjoy ponies so much?

Random whimsy of wonderment: I want to take a little person and place his ankles in the straps passengers hold on to when they stand. I REALLY want to see what the little person does when he’s being flailed around by the Green Line.

I don’t understand the joy of fishing at a lake or something. Robbie fishes at the grocery store.

Back at Trinity Mills Station. Time to hook the A-Train. You know what I just realized? A-Train was a wrestler during the end of the WWE Attitude Era.

A-Train vs. Green Line: A Head-to-Head Comparison
1. Seating: A-Train
2. Aesthetics: A-Train
3. Smell: Definitely A-Train

So, as I’m listening to a conversation taking place a few rows up from me, I heard an Indian man say “Thank you, come again.” No laughing. No inclination that he was indulging himself in the American tradition of mocking pop culture. It’s like he said it in all seriousness. I’m still in disbelief.

Some pissed off 4-year-old just flipped me off. So, I did it back. Fuck you, kid.

Still waiting on the conductor. Taking his sweet ass time.

I have the theme song from Charles in Charge stuck in my head. For whatever reason. I don’t know.

Now, we depart Trinity Mills Station, concluding my Green Line musings from April 30, 2013. Join me next time for more banter and observations from rapid transit travels.

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About Robert L. Franklin

Ah, the About Me section - social networking's excuse for you sounding like an elitist prick. Hmm... what to say? What to say?
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