It's midday and I sink into this seat, breathless. I've hollowed out a cavity in my chest; it gapes from my throat, down through the space where my lungs should be, back to my shoulder blades and the thin skin stretching over them. It's hard not to sucumb to the hum of the metro and sink into sleep. An Asian girl standing in front of me has the most incredible hair. I eye her skinny legs tucked into fabulous boots and am reminded of something I read recently: "There is a special place in hell for fashion bloggers". So that's all I can tell you. Across from me there's an older woman with a pinched face and a just-sucked-on-fresh-lemon look. She looks me right in the eye and then down over my bag, my jeans, my shoes with an expression of distaste. I'm tempted to hiss at her but I don't. I start to cough again and she looks away.

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