has new.

personal space is a myth on peak-hour-trains.
we find elbows in the ears & blonde hair in the mouths. in the carriage, there are four with eyes crouched over books; three of these are unexpected. three are young. palming neil gaiman's fragile things, i do not think of the essays i have to write or the dinner i may have to make. the man with the briefcase & tired eyes is not thinking of falling interest rates. the boy with the nice jawline is reading to kill a mockingbird & is not thinking of kicking his friend in the shins. the boy with the book i wasn't sneaky enough to catch the title of, is not thinking of the train's low hum.

this boy with the book with the unknown title, he doesn't have as nice a jawline, but somehow, his face is more appealing.

i decide that the fourth time he looks my way, i will smile. the thing about the stories worth telling though, is that they're usually full of irony. & in this case, i sat the rest of the way home with lips pursed to the sky.


  1. That's a nice lil short story itself. All my reading of late is essay related & will likely remain that way til Christmas...That reminds me of essay stuff. an early Tdmperance figure in Canada was named Christmas. :-)

  2. i tricked a boy into sitting beside me on the train once.

    i told him i was famous on the interwebz and made him admit [to the camera] that he was checking me out in the station AND in the train car.

    we talked for six hours. lots of:

    "that cow looks like you"
    "that hay pile looks like you"
    "that tree looks like you"

    it was like we'd known each other forever.


    i'm so gonna upload the footage i have of us to the old youtube.

    for yooouuu!