Turning thru sick lullaby/ choking on your alibi

Forgive me for quoting something as ubiquitous as the Killers, kids. It felt fitting. And I'm not sure if it's verbatim cuz I burnt it from Patty McDouche and Googling efforts conflict. (Should add to the "Separating the Wheat from the Chaff" entry).

Last month, I was wrestling with the age-old argument: "On the one hand, he's a cheap, non-committal, fickle douchebag. On the other hand, he has hair."

Surely you've had this argument with yourself, no? 'Course you have.

I sat on a 1/9 train coming home from Harlem. It was late.

Across from me sat a man and a woman. The man put one hand on the woman's forehead. She instantly tilted her head back. With his other hand, the man squeezed eyedrops into both of her eyes as the train coasted south. She blinked. He asked her something. She nodded. They got off the train, grabbed hands, pondered which way to exit.

Reminded me of a piece of a poem that I also saw on the subway:

(variation on the word "sleep" by margaret atwood)

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment only.
I would like to be that unnoticed
and that necessary.

Needless to say, I had my answer.