by Casey Scheinler
It was not the first time I had seen him on the subway, looking hot and mysterious, but it was the first time I gathered up the courage to take the seat next to him. He was dressed in perfectly faded, ripped jeans, a button up gray shirt fraying around the edges with holes in the elbows, and well worn black Converse high tops, and between his rough hands that ended in short clean fingernails he held a copy of "On the Road" by Kerouac... perhaps a little cliche but seriously, how many 20-something year olds read Kerouac? His blond hair was curly and wild, hanging down to the middle of his back begging to be twirled, and his long bangs partially obscured his deep brown eyes and thick curled lashes which at this moment were riveted as they skimmed across the dog eared pages of the book. I lightly rubbed against him as I leaned over to pull a book from my backpack - an underground hand bound copy of "Paper Music - Slam till you Die" which was sure to catch his eye, and settled back in my practiced "I-am-so-into-this-book" slouch, while crossing my legs a little higher than needed so he had a clear view of my long, shapely limbs. I could feel the electrons snapping between us - mounting to a crescendo each time the car slammed to stop and we leaned forward or pulled away and we were yanked back, each time accidentally touching each other. The subway train slowed again - from the corner of my eye I saw him stand as he casually shoved the book into his shirt pocket, and as I looked up at him, he caught my eye and nodded his head in an almost unacceptable "hey" motion - so slight was that motion I doubted anyone else noticed, but I knew, and I was burning with victory... I was so in.
Casey Scheinler is always looking for the next frontier; digging deep to find the story inside; feeling it clawing its way to the surface...