Ballad of the foot rider

Tonight.

8:13pm LSE train from Union.

I sat down in a quad, by myself, and was soon joined by a woman, who, just past Danforth, slipped out of her loafers and laid her stocking feet on the seat next to me. Lord have mercy. Do I have to describe the stench? It was somewhere between stale Doritos and the smell of the water after you've boiled corn.

So I got up and moved. I also took a photo which I lovingly share with you below.

Settled into another quad, I was now seated across from a bag rider/foot rider combo who had her running shoes up on the seat in front of her.

I didn't even try to hide that I was taking pictures of these women.

The running shoe beast was busy texting and listening to her iPod. At one point, when she began to push her feet onto the foot cushion, grinding her filth into the fabric, she caught my eye and I nodded, to say I wanted to talk to her. She pulled out her earplugs and I asked if her running shoes were new, to which she replied, "No, do you like them?" I said, "No, not really, but they shouldn't be on the seat".

She got up in a huff, all pissed that I said something and lumbered her way upstairs.

Mission accomplished.