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Skin is so soft and smooth and warm. Sometimes I can’t help but kiss it. Which isn’t a problem, not really. Though perhaps . . . inappropriate if that skin is my own? My soft, smooth, warm bicep, presented to me so alluringly as I hang, drunk with exhaustion or maybe simply distracted, by one arm from the too-high stainless steel grip bar on the Green Line, Red Line, Orange Line.

Perhaps you do this, too? I can’t be the only smooth customer holding myself aloft by an act of might, resting my mouth against my arm, too-early in the morning/too-late at night.

Anyhow, fellow passengers, my apologies. Sorry if I weirded you out.