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December 22, 2003
A guy, too good-looking for public transportation, enters the subway and stands just outside my peripheral vision. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him looking at me. I'm sure he's thinking the same thing about my appearance and existence on the subway. The only way I can bear to look at him is in the blackened reflection of the window next to my left shoulder. If I turn to look at him face to face, one of us may have to make a move, and I don't want to know if he'll be the one who won't.