He smelled the mint from the woman's gum and his ears drank in the melodies from his iPod, and he thought: of a girl he missed; a girl he never knew; a girl he dreamt about
. . .
They talked about things intangible; French grammar and the similarities between une planche roulette and a sailor's she-ship.
. . .
He watched the pair sleep from across the room and had to leave. The cold concrete greeted his bare feet with welcoming shivers and he licked the lips she kissed when he bent over to brush her cheek with them.
. . .
There's a nazi on the train and I want to tie him down on the tracks and watch as his fat wrist and sagging fading tattoo turn to red pulp and charred flesh.
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