As I left the clinic, I felt the urge to spit on the sidewalk, but I never followed through because that would have been revolting. The clinic itself wasn’t overly helpful, though, since my vision cleared up pretty fast once the doctor started his checkup. 

His best guess was that I had retinal or ocular migraine since I temporarily lost my ability to see bullshit. All I got from this checkup was a referral for an MRI that I can guarantee I won’t follow through with. 

But for now, I needed to figure out not only the specific day it was but also whatever the hell I was doing before I crossed that road. After looking around and getting my bearings, I turned to head back down the block toward Union Station. 

The walk from the harbor front wasn’t anything special, but being rush hour after workday, it was crowded in the downtown core. Even making it to the other side of the crosswalk in one piece was a miracle since the moment I tried to cross, a car attempted to just push through the crowd so they could make a turn.

“Fuck you, it’s red! Wait your turn!” I kicked their bumper. Fuck this cyber truck, it’s ugly as hell. What is this? Lego land? Damn, this was leaving a bad taste in my mouth. Should I spit on it after all? 

“Fuck you! Learn to walk before I sue you for damages!” The driver screamed out the window at me. I flipped him off.

“Fuck you! Learn to drive before you’re either charged with vehicular manslaughter, or I get charged with attempted murder due to road rage!” I kicked his bumper again, daring him to keep pushing forward. 

A few people took out their phones, and the driver closed his window in response. I proudly nodded as I crossed the street in one piece. These stupid drivers have some sort of mental disorder that makes them think they’re superior and that they own the road. I hope they all combust. 

Once I made it to the other side, the crowd disappointedly put their phones away when there was no confrontation; only then did a thought occur to me. Where was my phone? In a panic, I patted all my pockets down until I got to the inside breast pocket of my leather jacket. It was cold. Was it off?

“What the hell?” I mumbled out loud, attempting to power it on several times, including trying to shake it. After a few passerby's gave me a concerned look at the violence I seemed to be displaying toward my mobile, the shame set in, and I stomped my back down Front Street as my face grew hot. 

Entering Union Station’s historical entrance was always a sight to behold. It felt like entering an old Roman temple filled with elegant chandeliers. The ticking of the clock with the train times displayed in the center of the great hall immersed me as if I were inside an old nineteen hundreds black and white film of a spy attempting to blend in with the crowd and board the train before they were caught. 

I couldn’t help but smirk as I glanced down at how loud my outfit was. There was no such thing as blending in for me. Though the average citizen wore black, what the normal contributing citizen wore was nothing compared to me. 

My goth leather buckled boots, my mixed jeans and leather black pants with numerous amount of chains per every belt loop, my ripped charcoal-grey muscle tee on top of a netted tee, overlaid with my heavy black four-collar folded leather jacket. My studded and barred ears were so heavily pierced that there was no room for any more decorations. 

Though my boots were heavy, and my chains clanged loudly, I always tried to make my steps quiet whenever I entered this hall. Whenever the crowd dispersed, the echo from how loud my outfit was would cause me some minor embarrassment. Usually, I liked being as loud as possible. I hated feeling small, so it was better for me when people felt the need to move out of my way. 

Stopping in front of the analog clock, I looked up at its old face as it ticked by. Always imagining being the last one standing in front of this clock as the world ends has always been a vice of mine. I couldn’t help but smirk at the ridiculous thought as I turned away from it and made my way down the stairs to the renovated section of Union Station. 

Down in the low-ceiling basement was my favorite New York-styled coffee shop-news stand combo that I would hit up, followed by a stop at Cinnabon. But the renovations changed everything, and now I was forced to walk down this stupidly long walled-off halfway into multiple balcony and glassed-door areas, and another few sets of maze-like stairs just to get to the new cafeteria. 

I needed to score a spot in the phone charging locker while I ate, so I could just find out what was going on. Telling me it was Thursday was useless. I shouldn’t be working at the university library today - and I wasn’t even sure if I was attending the semester or on break. The not-knowing was starting to piss me off as much as that yapping officer. 

Clicking my tongue, I pinched the bridge of my nose to chase away the headache from frowning so much. The blurry image of that red blobbed pushover kept creeping in. I had goosebumps when he called out my name, only to disappear without a thought.

I put my phone on the charger and closed the mini-locker door, setting a code and depositing a dollar coin. I scanned the still-open food options and opted for a gimbap. I’d rather have a quick-to-go option that was filling enough to keep me going. 

As I sat and bit into it as if it were a burrito, like the ass I chose to be today, I scanned my eyes over the dispersing crowd making their way to the departing tracks. Everything seemed normal, monotonous, and overly detailed - so this wasn’t a dream. That’s one thing ruled out. I had lucid dreams several times before, so I knew what to look for.