149/365 01/17/2026

“You’d be surprised.” 

We were jammed together on the cross-town bus. All us schlubs who couldn’t afford a ride share and had to deal with each other when the subway workers went on strike. I tried to ignore him, the man whose head nearly rested on my shoulder. His breath smelled like gunky floss and burnt coffee. I pressed my forehead against the pole.

“You’d be surprised,” he continued. “How easy a knife—some knives—will slide through skin. It’s like a...like a…like a elegant kayak parting the water.” 

I took a deep breath, the pole’s metal and some other guy’s wet wool coat giving me smells that weren’t disgusting. I waited.