“what is your type, anyway?” a friend who is in a long-term relationship asked. only later at the bus home did i come up with a pallid response. “some 1 u’d dismiss at 1st,” i texted him.
still a borough away from my stop, a guy in ratty chinos got into the bus without a metro card. my new headphones drowning me, i saw him flashing a ten dollar note towards the rest of us. no one paid him no mind. at the next stop, he had to get off.
the bus rumbled on. through the grubby window, i saw him run to the nearest deli, his messenger bag banging against his lower back. in my ears, the saxophonist played the final notes to this track hard and dry.