Telica’s shirt peeled off of the taxi seat as she sat up, leaving a ring of perspiration behind. As she dropped the change into the driver’s palm, she sneakily ran her sleeve over the sweat. Stepping out, she threw her suit jacket on to hide the wet columns that streaked down the back of her shirt, despite feeling lightheaded.
Platform four was congested with people. Body odors and the smell of gum-jeweled asphalt filled the outdoor strip like fog. A man in a cheap suit and glasses caught her eye from a neighboring queue. “Interview?” he asked with certainty. Telica nodded. As if explaining the answer to a bar-trick, he added, “I can’t keep my hands still before them either. I don’t know why I don’t feel right with them at my sides.” She noticed her fingers pressing against her thumb like she was squeezing the life out of an ant. He smiled. Self-conscious, she stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets. “Ain’t it a kick in the head? This economy, I mean. We’re all scrambling for jobs, but it seems like everything screams by us between blinks.” The warning melody sounded and the train rolled next to the platform with rail clacking underneath it. “The best luck to you,” he called over the crowd’s murmurings and the sound of air pressure releasing from the engine’s brakes. Telica gave a perfunctory smile and boarded the fifth car.