They got on the crowded train at Farragut West, he in his father’s charcoal suit and a new canary yellow “Live Free or Die” t-shirt, she in a calf-length white skirt, pink shoes and a sweater set. They stood among the rest of us who were standing on the ride home from RFK and the Nationals loss, talking about their exes. She made reference to her high school ex who just kept coming back, he mentioned his 5 or 6 college girlfriends. They stood and she leaned on the pole, her right heel just coming out of her pink mary janes.
The train headed for Foggy Bottom, and the din of the tunnel drowned out his response to her flirting. As we pulled into the station, she talked about moving to Texas, glancing at the sheen of sweat on his forehead in the hot traincar. He laughed and rolled his eyes. They moved to a bench seat as the train cleared out. As the train pulled out of the station and into the noisy tunnel, she asked “Can you ever just stop being a player?”
The shaking car and thundering wheels drowned out his reply.
He was being played, he just didn’t know yet. She slipped off her mary janes for some equally pink mules, and tossed her hair.
Or he knew. And didn’t care.
This post appeared in its original form at DC Metblogs
I live and work in the District of Columbia. I write at We Love DC, a blog I helped start, I work at Technolutionary, a company I helped start, and I’m happy doing both. I enjoy watching baseball, cooking, and gardening. I grow a mean pepper, keep a clean scorebook, and wash the dishes when I’m done. Read Why I Love DC.
