I shift through the train to retrace the detail of a man's hand that I can never touch connected to a body covered in a suit covered in a smell covered in a naked skin whose folds and creases and textures only a lucky few women can explore, the detail of a man's hand I commit to memory only to come back out with all the new words that are knocking on my headroom door, kicking and screaming the others come and go into this bubble in a world that is now a sinking ship, not just this city but the entire world condoms and masks and tanks to save our lives to live another day to die the detail of that man's hand the arm hair scraped off by his shiny watch telling me it's time to get off so I get off and I come and I come all over your white pages and now it's time to get going so I go and I get out and I go. Doors shut on friends on family on lovers all shifting into one concurrent light.