I’m standing on the platform, minding my own business, reading a book on my iPad, and a young woman smoking a cigarette (not generally allowed on BART platforms) saunters up to me, and says “Hi” with a Russian accent.
“Um, hi. What’s up?”
“Nothing,” she smiles, and looks expectantly at me.
I have no idea what she’s “expecting” so I think I respond with “what’s going on?”
“My husband just left me. I just talked to him on the phone. He says that I am crazy, but HE is the crazy one. He wants me to see a psychiatrist in Dublin, but I won’t. I’m not crazy.”
“He wants me to see Dr. Gold. Do you know him?”
“Can’t say I’ve heard of him.”
“He’s CRAZY. Not me.”
“Well, we’re all a little crazy, I suppose…”
“What is that?” she asks, pointing to my iPad.
“It’s an iPad. I’m reading a book on it.”
“Let me see. The print is too small. Can you zoom it in?”
“What are you reading?”
“It’s a book about spaghetti westerns.”
Then she asks me, “Do you want any money?”
“Money. Do you want any? You can buy anything in this country if you have enough money. Even your soul.”
“Well,” I respond, “I’ve already got my soul. I don’t need to buy another one…”
“You seem like a nice man,” she tells me. She then gives me a weird hug, and walks off down the platform.
In the distance, I hear her talking to someone else.