5 PM on the 6 train

Two curious eyes peered over a copy of the New York Times, Al watched a young woman as she sat down on one of the orange and yellow seats, a swarm of men and women in suits filed in. The subway smelled of cologne, rain and sweat. This woman had a thick fur coat on, not the kind you get at Bloomingdale’s but possibly a cheaper trade-in you thrifted in your teens. Her red knee high boots stood out against the old and worn rain boots that filled the train. Al gradually lowered the Thursday paper enough for him to catch a glimpse of the owner to Red Boots. Her bushy brows were furrowed as she toyed with a ring in her hand and her lips fell in a natural pout. Her lips were painted a dark brown, perhaps too dark to compliment the shape of the lips it were meant to highlight.

“Stand clear of the closing doors, please.”

The crowd moved in, a backpack now stood between Al and Red Boots. All Al could now see were her fingers tracing the ring over and over again. He stretched his legs out, softly nudging Ms. Backpack away from his line of sight. Ms. Backpack muttered something inaudibly under her breath but it didn’t matter- Al could see her again. Something about the way she curled her lips when she concentrated, at this ring, amused him. The ring fell out of her hands and Al let out a soft chuckle. Red boots looked up, clearly annoyed, and reached for the ring. It had conveniently fallen near Al’s stretched feet- a game of fate; he picked it up with one hand and looked back- Red Boots snatched it from his hand, no thank you, no smile. Damn.

Al leaned back in his seat, the newspaper fell unwillingly on his lap. “You’re welcome.” He said.

“Huh? Oh, right-” She paused, biting her lip as if debating whether this stranger was worthy of her words, “Thanks.”

Guess he was. Al perked up.

“Al.” he extended his hand.

She glanced at his hand in the middle of twenty pairs of legs and a backpack, “Miriam.” She raised her hand in a half wave, ignoring the hand. She looked at him again ,“I’m getting off at the next stop.” She didn’t know why she chose to tell this random stranger this piece of information. But she did, she’d also felt his eyes on her since she walked in. He was the one reading the obituary section when she had taken the seat across from him, what kind of a morbid person does that. But he hadn’t stopped looking since she sat down. So she told him where she was getting off. Because honestly, it had been a long time since her spontaneity pushed her to do something. So, here she was telling a stranger that she was getting off at the next stop.

Al smiled, “Me too.”