I'll play storytime...
I was slightly younger than I am now and had been munching mushrooms out of one of those big freezer ziploc bags for a few hours and I had to go home. To do this, I got on the subway to meet my mother at the station closest to my house. I get on the train and began trying to read my book. The letters kept just .... wiggling around, moving in the lines that they occupied. They were really hard to focus on but I persevered. Every now and then I would look up and around to try and gain some perspective, as though I was only reading too close to the page and that's why the letters didn't make any sense. I looked at the speckled floor of the subway and the spots would slide longer as the train gained and lost speed. I went back to my book.
We reached the next station and with jerking movements a small, wiry, unkempt man collapsed on the three seats in front of me. The ledge behind him provided a place for his arm. He stretched out a dirt encrusted finger and through bristled hair, from his forehead to his eyebrows to his beard, he slowly began to mumble, shaking his finger occasionally at me. I tried to concentrate on my book. I put headphones in to drown out the sound. All the while, this man with hair growing forever, coarse, grey and dirty mumbled incomprehensible things at the pupils, wide as saucers, that inhabit my eyes. I tried to keep calm as the heat enveloped me. And just at the last second, as the train began to close the doors at the next station, he bounded off. I had my music and my book and the slight suspicion that I was cursed.
I couldn't read anymore.