As I approached the BART on the Millbrae platform, the train was pulling into platform 3 and letting out its passengers. I'm used to the diverse colors, expressions, and smells of passengers, but I was a bit terrified by those who exitted the front train. Perhaps it was my recent lack of sleep amplified by some eerie and aggressive techno- podcast of Nkisi on RA.660, but amongst the typical array of multicolored crusties and hipsters was a woman who ambled from the train slack-jawed, eyes-wide, gaunt toward the exit (which happened to be in my direction). It seemed as though she were a burn victim or some sort of actress from the Fallout universe. I mean no harm, but my heart froze up when she got close. A gharish outfit not unfamiliar for prostitutes or those seek- ing overcompensation of femininity. It was hard to tell where the makeup ended and where the ravaged body began.

The BART has approached the SFO airport and several type-A seeming couples entered wearing neutral colors, carrying neutral baggage. A few individual nerdy men boarded clutching shoulder bags and gym bags. There is a huge orange moon over the Bay. I don't spend enough time with it.

Operator at the BART at 12th Street Station. "Please do not smoke weed at the station. If you need to take a hit, man, we can show you the way out of the station." The train, jam packed with generally irritated or phone-focused commuters broke into scattered giggles