Article I saw on the subway today

I saw an article on the subway today, took a picture of it on my phone and transcribed it out.

"I've always been able to look at a woman and picture in my head how her tears would look, sagging from the whiteness of the eye, hanging from their eyelashes, touching the ground. I don't care for most of them, I sit alone watching them and their lovers and friends, and they probably look down on me for it. I've sat alone in small cafes for hours, touching ass-to-ass with all sorts of lovers and friends, watching the lights, and the walls, and them. I never intend to listen but somewhere along the lines their mannerisms tear their way through the carefully constructed environments they're in. Too much nodding, too much smiling, too American, too ugly, too French. Too stupid. It's these mannerisms that detract from the candles, the perfectly aligned bottles sitting at the bar--nestling on racks of wine too old and too good for me to understand or identify, the postures of the waiters and waitresses, the glimpses of Ecuadorian line cooks gliding through the kitchen as they prepare your Entrees.
It takes a different kind of person to catch their mannerisms--to understand that they don't really appreciate the live music in front of them, or the atmosphere around them. It takes someone who doesn't clap at the loud solos from the band just because they're the most audible or because they're the fastest, it takes someone who genuinely cares about the environment they're in. It's the people who are willing to--who prefer to--drink the expensive scotches in plastic cups, the angry bar patrons who slug down hundred year old wines like malt liquor, who understand what an environment is about. It's about enjoying yourself. Do you remember why you're at a nice restaurant with your lover or your friend? Of course you do. You're going to have a nice time, you're going to impress. The ones I look at, the ones who would use a fork to hold a fork to eat their food if they were told it was classier, these are the ones to stare at. They sit uncomfortably, worried about their back protruding out below their necks if they slouch, worried about their legs slipping from their neatly tucked positions between the legs of the table, contemplating the horror of their linen napkin dropping to the floor. Ooing and awing at the leather-bound menus, anxious to show their friends how they will be ordering in french, taking the better part of an hour before they arrived to perfect their accent for their particular choice.
I guarantee the bum drinking something brown out of a styrofoam cup is enjoying himself more than you, wondering what fork you're supposed to use for this next bite, or what romantic line you'll spew next to get somebody wet. And not just in that moment either, that bum's probably sucked a dick or two just to get the money to have that one drink. I bet the cum residue on his teeth doesn't bother him as much as it'd bother you if I grabbed a piece of kobe beef and ate it with my hands."

Enjoy,
FR