Brian Phillips on the New York subway

by Mr. Sheehy

Here’s what I think happens. You fall asleep on a subway car, maybe the 7 headed toward Times Square, maybe you’re on your way back from watching tennis, and while you’re asleep all the rats slip out of their hiding places on the train. They tiptoe up to you, and then they just start licking you in the face. You don’t wake up, because you’re exhausted and maybe slightly immuno-compromised. And after a minute or so during which the rats bathe you in rat germs, Donald Trump slips out of his hiding place on the train. And because this is possibly a dream, and thus possibly more real than reality, Donald Trump has four spiderlike legs, and it is on these four oddly jointed and nimble legs that he skitters up to you. Donald Trump juts out his lips like a jellyfish and brings his head close to your head. And welcome to the jungle, baby, because now you have subway plague, because Donald Trump has just nightmare-licked you in the face.

Brian Phillips writing about the US Open. Really. Who says creative writing doesn’t serve a purpose for journalists?