I know her lips are pursed, but it still looks like she's puckering up to kiss me. Maybe she would if she had a chance. After all you don't wear leopard print and pumps at 55 for nothing. I try to inch away, but it's rush hour—
—so the best I can do is pivot a little closer to the open window, close my eyes, and submerse myself in the click-clack of subway tracks and the constant screeching of brakes.