On the subway,
waiting—
shadows swallow rays,
drizzle smothers
the sun.
Some eat Halloween candy,
loot from their kids.
Chin in hand,
worry jitters—
knee bouncing.
Granddad claimed
God made me steel.
I steal his faith
on long walks.
Thuds crack ties.
Tense neck—
I knead out kinks.
Across, a woman
glows blue
in her phone’s light.
Dark skirt,
tinted frames—
success in a latte’s stream.
She sips,
hazel eyes unreadable.
Behind her glow,
even the sun hides.
We’re all vulnerable.
I juggle words—
none fit her
sun-kissed tone.
Sinful thoughts,
unspoken,
cling tight.
Spiral toward
one more late punch-in,
worry creases—
debt piles:
late rent,
car note.
I lick my wounds,
look up.
She grins.
“Can’t be that bad,” she says.
“Me?” I touch my chest.
“Yes, I’m talking to you.”
She folds her arms, posture softening.
“People like you.” I gesture.
“People like me?” She arches a brow.
I exhale. “Luck,” I say.
“I’m late for the third time this month.”
I rake my fingers through my hair.
“Got a good reason?” She sips.
“My grandfather died,”
I say, brushing away a tear.
“I’ve been in a rut.”
She dries her eyes. “You work at Websters, don’t you?”
I arch a brow. “How’d you know?”
“Everyone knew your grandfather,” she says.
“You could be his twin.”
“That ugly?” I joke.
She laughs, dabbing her nose.
“Reseda,” she says, offering her hand.
“The new owner?” I narrow one eye, take her hand.
She shrugs.
“I haven’t forgotten where I came from.”
I lift a shoulder.
“I guess I’m fired, right?”
“Not a chance in hell,” she says.
“I studied your file.”
“And?” I ask, nerves raw.
“How does a promotion—and a first date—sound?”
“Thank God for lousy luck,” I say.
“And good excuses.” She laughs.
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