She had her hands wrapped around the subway pole like a cup of coffee, her fingers interlaced on the far side. Her nails were long and had a nude colored paint on then except for her two ring fingers which had stripes on them. My paler, red-nailed hand was below hers and as she talked her hands slid down and rested lightly against mine. Usually, I pull away from any contact on the subway, but that morning, in my caffeine-deprived haze, I didn’t. I looked at our two hands touching, and felt soothed by the warmth of her living body. Here we were – two people, alive and connecting. Two strangers indirectly holding hands.