|Inspired by MLusk of Weather Records|
Yesterday I saw Ryan Kitson on the train. The other train on the other tracks. I saw him through the window as my train was stalled for some reason, his train similarly waiting to take off. He was seated, alone, on the Brooklyn bound track intently typing with his left thumb into his phone. He was wearing blue jeans and a grey cardigan over a white t-shirt with his right hand resting on a greenish looking denim sort of jacket flopped over the seat of a white ten-speed bicycle. Through his shirt, most likely due to his seated position but possibly a result of a less arduous tennis schedule, I could just make out the subtle growing of a paunch.