You: hot butch in a bomber jacket, headphones on, peeling off layers like the train was heating up—or maybe it was just the way you were looking at me.
Me: femme, floor-length mink coat, trying to act unfazed while you were absolutely eye-fucking me across the car.
We locked eyes on the 2/3. I got off at the right stop wrong time . I should have gotten off with you—for real this time.
If you remember the femme in the mink who couldn’t quite stop looking back, say what color headphones you had on. Let’s actually meet next time instead of just riding the train.
