I am at Queens Plaza now, standing on a platform in the subway, writing this entry on my phone while waiting for the train. A rumbling in the tunnel indicates one is about to arrive, though whether it will be heading in the direction I want to go isn’t yet clear. Someone at the end of the platform is shouting in a way that suggests mental illness. Meaning, without apparent purpose. Which isn’t to say no purpose at all. I’m trying to get myself to Mass, though presently I feel irritable and mean.