Today’s problem: missed the train. Yesterday’s problem: missed yesterday’s train. Darlin spat on the ground in a fury he was sure wasn’t feigned. This time. He had a habit of acting angry to show strangers that he was a guy who cared about things and had places to be. Important people are inconvenienced! Problem: rage was addictive. Even acted rage. It fired up the olllllllllll’ adrenaline whatevers and got him going like a pissed off Wall Street guy who’s losing his stocks in a secret back door trade deal that went bad and screaming into his cell phone because DAVIS dropped the ball. Something like that. Man that felt good. Darlin wasn’t too good at metaphors because he possessed a literal mind that dealt in concrete facts. Like MISSING HIS TRAIN. He also didn’t know much about Wall Street dealings in general, but he didn’t know that. He didn’t go around everyday affirming his ignorance. Does anyone? No they don’t. That’s the problem with ignorance: it’s invisible. People next to him on the platform shuffled quietly away, finding positions 20 feet to the right that were suddenly more interesting. Darlin didn’t notice. And if he did he would have explained it away in some fashion that would have not painted him poorly. He was stalking off the platform, sighing once loudly, and back toward Creamy Numbers Coffee Shoppe. He needed some coffee. Some HOT coffee. Assuming those baristas could get it to him quickly enough without looking barely more competent than a collection of trained chimpanzees. How hard was their job? The sky was a weak blue, the sort that inspires no one. Cloudy tendrils petered out in thin wispy forms. Darlin marched down Cackler Street, pointedly pushing past some walking human turds who couldn’t be bothered to politely make way. He moved quickly, humming tunelessly, kicking a rock down the sidewalk and obliquely wondering what it might be like to have a friend.