I see you as the train pulls into the station, not much more than a tall, thin figure in my periphery, standing on the platform. You seem to catch my gaze, which I promptly avert, but you still place yourself directly before me as you board. I’ve been told not to stare. I have learned not to stare. Yet there you stay, your long legs covered only slightly by a patterned sun dress. There is no hint of annoyance or self-consciousness in your face. You look casually through a magazine, your profile revealing a sharp nose and firm, sharp lips. It takes a great deal of effort to not gaze incessantly, but you seem to know, you don’t seem to mind. And as I slip by you to exit the train you look up from your reading and straight at me.