The florescent light above me buzzes with maliced intentions. I view my reflection in the dark glass, pale and agitated.
The train moves me forward, chest muscles tighten and fingers drum with controlled hysteria.
Knuckles rap the door: once, twice. Footsteps shuffle and blots withdraw.
Come inside. I’ve been waiting.
I touch a button on the only clean shirt I could find and for no good reason tell you that I like to eat the pith from an orange skin. You smile and show me lips, crooked bottom teeth touching tongue. My hand brushes yours.
You’re telling me a story about the time you saw a flattened toad on the sidewalk and can’t seem to forget it. I remember a crow I once saw on a road, black with one wing askew, a smudge of blood on the tarmac.
I don’t tell you this.
You hand me...