Let's roll.

I'll tell you one thing about disgust. It's the look a young mother gave me when a severely drunken native with a fifth of Listerine in his hand bumped the stroller in the aisle of the train. The look also said "you got my back, right?"

Yeah, sure. I'm on it. I'm watching him. He's careful now. He has a sudden flash of disgust on his own. He's disgusted of himself, for a moment.

Everybody's watching him. They want to. It's great because we're all so much better. It'd be really neat if he fell between the space separating the train and the platform. If his head was severed. If out of nowhere a smaller, drunker native came and scooped up the fifth of Listerine as it tumbled, still in the air. He'd catch it like he's just robbed a home run ball. We'd all chuckle even after the severed head. We'd tell stories of it for months, years.

We'll just sit on the train ignoring this mad, drunken native. Some of us want to kill him. And when he leaves we're all relieved. This ignorant wave of disgust and hatred is so hard for us to bare.