soph

We're both in the front row of seats, on opposite sides of the M-train stairway (I passed her once in the hallway of the Hum building around 5 pm as well, though), reading, dark circles facing off. She's riding backwards, which I always try to avoid if possible. We are eavesdropping shamelessly, mirror-image brows wrinkled and pens twitching in our hands. Thay are talking very loudly, two separate groups, suddenly "...don't have sex... the converts... they have sex..." We look up and a huge white smile rolls and breaks across the aisle. I read for the rest of the trip and overhear nothing else of any interest. She got off at Castro, her wallet chain swinging right in front of my eyes through the scratched plastic window.