fwriction

An older man sat across from me. I stood, because the air conditioning only helped when I positioned myself just beneath it. The older man wore a midnight blue T-shirt, with the word “Certified” printed in white lettering above his heart. His silver hair fell to his shoulders and glistened a bit under the artificial lights.

Though I didn’t normally instigate conversations with strangers, I felt the impulse to inquire about his shirt.

“May I ask what you’re certified in?” My voice cracked, and I realized I was thirsty.

The older man smiled and revealed his crooked front teeth. “Living,” he said. “Living and fucking breathing.” He chuckled to himself, and the woman beside him joined in.

I reciprocated the smile and leaned back against the train door. The metal was cold, almost painful, against my hot skin.