On the commuter train out of Framingham (I don't know which one because they're all so late you have no idea which one you're on anymore) a woman in a green blouse and black skirt got on in Wellesley. It was so crowded that her friend got a seat behind me and she stood over me and talked. And talked. And talked. Non-effing stop. One long rambling monologue in my ear as I tried to read. Every so often she'd say to her friend, well, I'll let you do your charts, but then she'd just take a breath and launch into some other inane, boring topic. Coffee at work, how she likes it, they have a machine that you can choose your flavors but it just doesn't taste right, so she likes to get it somewhere else, but today, because the train's late she just may have to drink it...on and on and on like this.
Some people are just not born with the self-censor gene. The only thing I could think of is God bless the people who have to live with her, who can't get away from her inane chatter.
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