On the M Train

A young man with his own sense of style sat on the train like everyone else. Large white tank, black jeans cuffed high, just the right length to show off the perfect socks and pointed shoes that complete his ensemble. Bad skin, but the type that will fade in a year or two with a mother's tlc. He was cool- confident even- until another guy entered. This guy... now he was the type of guy that makes you cut class and smoke behind the bleachers. (Even though you're a non smoker that
hates missing English.) He sauntered to the middle of the car, fondling a cigarette between his fingers, taking the occasional faux puff for emphasis. Pacing in Nike airs, baggy moss green khakis and a store bought letter man's jacket, he annoyed our protagonist from the moment of entry. White t-shirt shook his head repeatedly, looking as though he swallowed a bad thought he wished to swing free. He looked away to prove he didn't care, only to glance back hungrily for any detail he
might've missed. Shoulder length hair, cut in a shaggy style. Look away. Glance back- black t-shirt that matches the red, black and white Nikes. A shake of the head...a puff... a frown... a pace... a glance... repeat. Repeat repeat.

For the first time in my life, I wished I were a mind reader.