The Septa to Glenside
“ Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!”
I studied their body language with subtle aggravation as they kept nervously flicking the elastic band that held together a bunch of disheveled, coffee-stained pages of a well-used notebook. I had just pulled a 60-hour work week and still had to ride the Septa bus for an hour just to get home. So, that constant “Thwack-ing” of the elastic band around that notebook did not ease my already over tired, and over stimulated mind. I opened my mouth to give a piece of my mind, just as the bus came to a harsh stop, thrusting the contents out of their bag, and the notebook, out of their hands. As I reached over to help pick up the books, an incredibly soft hand, with the most beautiful melanin skin tone I’ve ever seen, collided gently with mine. I studied their perfect hands awkwardly, they noticed my being creepy and quickly retracted their raw cuticle, nail polish chipped, yet perfectly long, piano-fingered hand, away from mine. I looked up.