He was sprawled out in the back of the train, lapsing in and out of consciousness. Leaving the Avenue J station, it must have been a sixth sense that told him that he and I were the last ones left.
“I’m a visionary,” he declared. I tried to ignore him.
“Did you hear what I said? You’re a visionary.”
“Actually, you said that you were a visionary.” I realized seconds too late that I should have just kept my mouth shut.
“You’re absolutely right,” he said, suddenly alert and sitting upright. “I guess that makes me a bit of a re-visionary.”
He smiled, clearly very satisfied with himself. I smiled back — until I realized I had missed my stop.