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I watched your thumb trace the spine of that paperback with a deliberate pressure that made me wonder how you’d handle a living thing.
Julian’s hand was a heavy, warm anchor on my thigh, mocking the ‘Quiet Car’ sign while his thumb traced the seam of my stockings.
The train took a curve near Bridgeport, and her knee didn't just brush mine; it lingered there, heavy and deliberate, a silent thesis statement.
!["I Think We're Past the Point of Professional Courtesy"](https://miscd.fra1.digitaloceanspaces.com/medium/"i-think-we're-past-the-point-of-professional-courtesy"-747-cover-1776499259188.jpg)
The fluorescent hum of the Acela lavatory flickered against the salt-crusted window while her hand white-knuckled the plastic sink-edge, drowning out the conductor’s announcement.