Asperger Syndrome: Fear And Loathing in the train from Belgrade to Lubljana

I love people, as long as they come either in book form or behind glass. Right now I’m in the train from Belgrade to Ljubljana, with a whopper of a headache, suffering from sensory overload like there’s no tomorrow. Behind me a kid is screaming. Next to me a sweaty woman is eating salty sticks from a crispy bag, looking unfathomably stupid and is cruising for a hit in the neck.

“Love is being brave,” says my wife next to me.

“Don’t talk to me!” I snap back. Everybody in the train looks at me. I’m a bad husband. It says so on my forehead. I probably beat her too and torment my mother in law. No folks, I’m just an aboulic alien with Asperger Syndrome. I’m daddy cool in perfect silence but when herds of humans crowd me and yalp like an obsession, and crisp crunchy bags and sweat from all their vile orifices, I become my vicious alter ego. I snap, I snarl and pretty soon I’ll turn homicidal.

Earplugs in my head, sunglasses on my nose, typing away just to have something to focus on. They say Asperger Syndrom is a blessing, and while I’m busy counting, I believe I’m going to wield my super mental powers to hypnotize the lady next to me into murdering the kid behind us.