January 21, 2019
She dreams of trains most nights. Poorly lit cars. All passengers wearing white. Glow faces that never look up. Thumbs miswanting the sensation of swiping, like it's an addiction. Is it? Or is it some evil spell? In one particular dream, she yells "Fire!" two, three times. No one pays her mind. Ten seconds after her outburst, the faces look up one by one, as if in a choreographed dance routine, starting from the row closest to her until it reaches the back of the car. They look at her, thumb still on the screen. Then they look down again.