you gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to roll 'em

On the T this morning, a woman sat on me. Well, she sat on one of my legs. I think her aim was off. Other things were off, too. Like her judgment. As soon as the train got underway, she started digging for nose treasure. She found one faster than you can say "hand sanitizer." She pulled it out, looked it over, then started rolling. At first, it stuck to her thumb. So she rolled it again, and then it wouldn't let go of her index finger. When patience ran thin, she wiped it on her purse. Between Harvard and Charles Street, where I got off the train, she found two more nuggets. Each one, rolled and flicked. Watching them spring from her fingers and hoping I could predict their direction, I renewed my vow to myself to set sail in a rowboat with no oars at the first sign of my own mental decline.