Punching Mag

That lady F-rider across from me looked like she fell in flour, or rubbed chalk instead of lotion all over her legs. Before I could think it strange, she started punching her magazine, cursing the woman in the ad. Not feelin’ it. Nor were the passengers on either side, who squirmed through their eyeballs, but kept nice and still, ’til the next stop arrived, mine. I wondered how many out of the exited herd were my neighbors.

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