He stands at the door of the subway, his left arm wrapped around his middle, his right elbow propped on his left arm so he can read his phone. He switches hands and continues reading. I know he is reading because his thumbs are still and his ears are empty. He has a black sporty watch on his left wrist and is dressed in a dark grey suit with a pale blue button-up shirt.

His face is serious, his mouth turned down a little at the corners. He looks up and glances in my direction and for a moment I think I am caught, but he merely returns to his phone and I to my description of him. His hair is brown and is in an unflattering white collar office worker style, combed over to his right, but it looks soft and probably looks good messy from sex, sleeping, or the shower.

He looks boring and competent and serious, but I think he has a wilder side underneath and maybe he likes rock climbing and motorcycles or tying up women and making them come so hard they cry.

He gets off at my stop and I watch his nice black leather shoes as we make our way to the surface. I peek up and sigh, there is a ring on his left ring finger. It’s too bad.