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This occurred sometime between 11pm and midnight: I was a Clark Kent-looking man dressed in a tan overcoat and reading the newspaper. My metro car was empty, but somewhere around Ballston the lights went out, and when I emerged from darkness I felt your evil stare from the far end. At that moment I feared death. You looked like a Rumanian witch from a pauper’s grave…tattered cloak, horribly wrinkled face with black circles around the eyes, and pointing a jeweled staff at me. You spoke some words to me but I could not understand your rusty voice, except for the word “smell”. The lights blinked again and you were gone.
Come back to me, and repeat yourself, you night-bitch.
