A Metro City Missed Connection — A Serial Fiction Press enter or click to view image in full size Photo by Joen Patrick Caagbay on Unsplash I was playing guitar on the 2 train platform at 149th Street-Grand Concourse. I play there on Tuesdays by the outbound train. During a break, I went to the restroom, and you stumbled into the men’s room smelling of peach schnapps and kerosene, screaming something about saving the penguins. You had on a short jean skirt, ripped-up fishnet leggings, and makeup smeared halfway down your face. You immediately started throwing up in the stall. I’m the guy in the Nirvana shirt who held your hair back. Some chunks got caught in the fur collar of your jacket, and you grabbed my shirt and used it to wipe them off. You handed me a pager while washing your hands and asked who I was. I said I was a musician, and you said, “Here?” and laughed at me. I’m not mad about that. I just want to give your pager back — it won’t stop buzzing. I’m sure I’ll cross your path again.…