Garburator Man

The thick soupy fog that settled last night left frost on everything this morning. It makes me wish I had some thick foggy soup around, but I don't really. Not the kind that I imagine would really hit the spot on this kind of grey day.
The birch trees have frost hanging off their wintry tendrils and they look like spooky old ladies telling stories, or chasing their rosy grandchildren around with their teeth out. All the other deciduous trees are wizards shouting at the sky trying to make snow fall on me. It's working a tiny bit. No lightning strikes or avalanches. A girl once told me you can spell it Lightening. But that's something else I'm pretty sure.
Things are crispier outside. I feel like anything I touch will break. It looks like I could even put a crack in the air, so I'd better be careful. Everything's dense, but in a thin way.

A fairly soused older man boarded the train earlier. He had found his way into an old Sun-Ice type coat and had maybe had it on since Halloween. If you take a lid from a big casserole dish and put it on the counter, watch it warble and whinge; that's how this guy stood on the train. His mouth was a garburator. It was because of this that a young woman sitting in front of me couldn't quite hear what he said to her in his drag-a-bike-under-a-car voice. GHKJTGKJTKSGHK, he garbled. She offered her seat to him. I think that's what he was getting at. He proceeded to creak his neck up at two men who were talking about work. I'M A COP, he offered. One of the men, the very tall one, smiled and thanked him for his service to the community.
Over the next ten or so minutes the garburator man made several attempts at standing up again, each time hurling itchy broken threats at a gaggle of teens by the door. If things really did break when I touched them, I might have given the garburator man a decisive poke. The very tall man intervened.
It was at this point that, I hope, the Alev from an alternate reality stood up and took matters into his own hands. His hand would have gently and ethereally alighted upon Garb's shoulder and suggested in strangely elegant - but not obscure - terms, that the pair of them should disembark. Alternate Alev (who might have a goatee) would, by his behaviour, suggest to Garb that he was not of this earth. He would give the impression that he had never before worn shoes, and would look about the train in fleeting fascination with its various parts. Somewhere between the Help button and the door, Alternate Alev would bring Garb to ask if he was God, to which Alternate Alev would reply that he was quite a bit smaller.
But the tall man's friend pushed the Help button and things were resolved in a more earthbound way.
The silence that followed was exactly like the conditions outside. You could cut the tension with a knife. Well not the tension, but the thing that was tense. You know the car of the train. Well the people in it. You could --
The silence that followed was exactly like the conditions outside. But without scary grannies and wizards.