My eyes rose up from the pages of my book as I felt the train slow down beneath me. From the sepia-tinted windows, I saw that the train had pulled into the central station, hissing as it applied the breaks to come to a full stop. Here, in the busiest part of the city, people came in and out of trains, weaving in between one another. Each person was captured in their own daily routine, failing to understand how the people around them were the characters of the mighty tale that was the day in the life of them. And those days were compounded with each day that they spent just living, in the pure essence of what it meant to just be human.

“Shit,” I muttered. Here I am waxing philosophy after I just looked out the damn window. I extended my legs out before letting them fall to the ground. The soles of my Chelsea boots caught the linoleum in a scraping sound.  I jumped up and started to move out, off the train, which still lay dormant on the tracks though the chiming from the intercom made it seem like it was about to rush away, back into the sunlit city. A trap song pounded out of my headphones, the words unintelligible, but the bass line boomed and popped with my step as I started towards a dingy stall of a newsstand. I quickly picked up a copy of the New York Times off the stand, and handed the old man a crumpled up fiver, telling him to keep the change as I quickly poached a large chocolate bar from where it was hanging on the side of the stall. The old man only grunted in reply, sliding a large hand over the bill, and hit the buttons on the register to put the money away, before going back to his small radio, shouting at the announcers in some language that wasn’t discernible to anyone but him. The newspaper was getting more expensive everyday. But it was a novelty, I thought, looking at the photo in the front of the paper.

“You know everything in there is available on your phone right?” a clear voice broke through my thoughts.

“Excuse me?” I swiveled, confusion laced in my tone looking for who had said that.

“I said, everything in that paper is on your phone. For free. So you just spent money unnecessarily and killed a tree while you’re at it” the source of the voice was a girl, and a very attractive one at that. I smiled in spite of myself. But while my mouth contoured into a smile, her’s tightened into a straight line.

“The crossword isn’t. That’s only available on the original” I replied, slapping the paper to prove my point, smugness emanating from my very tone. Ha, look at that witty retort. I took in her appearance. Her hair was curly and cascaded down, framing her face, which was still frowning. Her eyes, amber hued, were narrowed in dislike for, what I hoped, was the paper in my hand and not myself. Her lips were drawn so thin, they just resembled two thin pink lines that ran horizontal to one another.

“So in the noble pursuit of a crossword, you will ruin a tree?” she asked with her look of distaste firmly planted on her face. Oh man that voice. It had a slight lilt to it, no accent discernible at all, though she spoke as someone who had definitely argued with anyone and everyone she could. But her tone betrayed her face. While her face looked quite unhappy with me (or was it the entire world around her?), her voice was so heavily laced with sarcasm, I was amazed it hadn’t fallen down. I liked her more and more with every word that she spoke.

“Well yes, and the actual paper. Holding the paper is one of those feelings that can’t be replicated. I’m old school, I like having the paper. Besides, I made that chaps day over there didn’t I?” jerking my head to the newsstand owner, who had not stopped yelling at his radio. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard him breath since he started. How did he do it?

“Mo can get by without your patronage, I’m sure of it.” she responded rapidly.

“Mo? You know the name of the stall owner? Does this make you a regular of that fine establishment? Or a daughter…” I trailed off, I now had no idea where this was going.

With that she dropped the façade on her face and let out a laugh. It wasn’t a girlish giggle, but a real laugh, coming from the pit of her stomach. Her face went back to a smile, flashing me with her front teeth, and I felt my heart speed up when I saw that. My hand flew into my hair, sweeping it back. If I had to be accused of being a fascist everyday just to see her smile for a minute, you could call me Mussolini.  I had met this girl 5 minutes ago, and I’d let myself be called whatever names she wanted for the chance of a smile. I was screwed.

“Oh no, I’m not related to Mo in any way at all, am I?” she called to the man, who merely grunted in return. “I’m  just a regular who doesn’t see many people get the physical copy of the paper any more. And the Times? You knew we aren’t in New York right?” she had dropped the aggressive tone she had originally used. Instead, she seemed genuinely curious. My grin only grew larger.

“Well, I picked it up in college. Literally, we had the paper delivered to our dorm room doors every morning so I’d literally just have to pick it up. And I like it better than any other paper.” I replied, my words coming out slowly. But I could see her lose interest in what I was saying as a dog walked past her. I couldn’t fault her. Any dog is better than a guy chatting you up on a train platform. I instead took the whole image of this girl in. Her hair fell down the top of her shoulder, where she wore a leather jacket with a faded t-shirt for some band underneath. She looked like a less ridiculous Sandra-Dee at the end of Grease. I was so busy taking her in, I didn’t realize the dog left, and her attention had snapped back to me.

“See something you like?” she asked. Her voice was dripped with cheek.

“You look like a toned down version of Sandra Dee, you know from Grease.” I blurted out. Yea, that was smooth. Way to go man, you are just the man at attracting women.

But she laughed and smiled:“Well then, are you my yuppie Danny Zuko?” and my grin got so big, I thought it might split my face in half.

“Close, but its Jay not Danny.” I responded, as smoothly as I could, so most likely not that smooth at all.

“Mia, my name is Mia”, the girl said, all of a sudden becoming very shy. “Well come on then Jay, tell me, what does the New York Times think is worth printing? Buy a girl a drink?” And with that she turned on her heel and headed towards the exit.

“Sure” I stuttered out. “I already missed my train,” I muttered to no one in particular, before speeding up to chase after her. She laughed as she ran ahead, hair bouncing around as she walked past the doors and into the sunlight street. “Oh yea,” I thought, “this girl is something else.”