An open letter to the woman on the L train whose breasts were smashed against my back this morning--
I'm sorry that I had to push my way onto your car. I'm sorry that the only means of conveyance to Manhattan from Williamsburg has become a crowded mess of livestock, braying and mooing to get on board the oh so scant few trains which deign to take us to our meaningless careers. I'm sorry about all that.
But at least we got to share a special moment. Remember when I looked behind me to be certain that yes indeed, that soft insistent pressure on my shoulder blade was actually your right breast. And remember after I confirmed that fact, I looked into your green eyes as if to say, "Huh, isn't New York crazy?" in order to disarm the tension such close proximity can evoke? And remember the look of utter disdain and hatred you gave me in return?
I do. I'll remember it forever.
Also, your tits. I won't forget them.
You had a great rack.