Reading The Tea

Wedging into the L train. His stomach and mine fused. We look away. On the platform they look mournful. Next time, I think, next time let’s form a team and lift them over our heads into the extra space between our heads and the ceiling. I imagine them cozy and warm, finishing their night’s sleep, snuggling on gloved hands and wooley-hooded heads. Her bag raps insistantly on my leg. I grin at Dustin’s reflection, and the next car grins back at me.

“All of this ‘paying your dues’ shit is just so stupid to me. I mean, if you can do the job, why not just DO it.”

With a precious seat on the 4/5, she daubed foundation on her cheeks, puckered. She flicked out a mascara wand, and blinked on layer after layer. When she was done, she looked harder. Is the makeup her protection from the world?