Crossed arms; leaned stance. An un-invitation to those around her. To those who were vacuum sealed to the air around them, to those gasping for attention. Shifting eyes; rolled eyes. She didn't have time for these people. There was a foreground of untrust on a background of a blurred motion. The city was a flame, and she was a stone.
And then, a moment of humility. A breath came, and it wasn't from her fellow, personal-bubble-popping commuters. The breath came from behind her--from the door. It was more of a constant inhale, and matched the pace of the skytrain. While she had worked so hard to distance herself from trusting people, she forgot to apply this same tendency to technology. An open door; a window of opportunity. That's all it would take, and gravity would drag her body in, like a slow sip of a cigarette. The still, moving earth. The still moving earth.
A thin, made-in-China piece of plexiglass.
The problem was that she trusted plastic more than she trusted you. The problem was that she would lean on those doors more than she would ever lean on anyone.
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