I awoke this morning to find that I had received two text messages during the night. One was from a number I didn't recognize, and so was the other one. I also had one email in my inbox, which was from the MTA. The subject line read "CAREFUL - WET PAINT". The body of the message was empty.
As I walked to the subway, a man admonished me for not welcoming Jesus into my heart. At least, I think that's what he was admonishing me for; he was speaking a language I neither recognized nor understood. For all I know, he could not have been admonishing me at all, it might just have been his diction. But I got a definite vibe that he was upset with me for not making Jesus feel entirely welcome on the inside of my heart.
I passed my MetroCard through the reader at a turnstile, and the rotating turnstile thing suddenly started violently spinning, and nearly bruised my leg. I thought "hmm" and said aloud "hmm" and decided to use another turnstile, which allowed me passage without incident.
There were no seats on the train. They had all been removed, and everyone was stymied, but they all gamely stood around and eyed each other even more suspiciously than usual. The conductor read his grocery list over the intercom for the duration of the trip into Manhattan. I suppose it could have been someone else's grocery list.
I arrived at work and the building was gone. In its place was a Subaru Outback with the motor running, and my boss and four of my colleagues were crammed into it, looking over paperwork and drinking coffee. I got in the trunk and laid down.