The Metro was crowded. Hot. Humid. Stinky. I was over it. A woman shoved her way past me, separating me and my husband. I watched as Todd had no choice but to move about 15 feet away from me, grateful for the silent “You okay?” he shot me with his eyes across the train packed with Parisians.
“I’m fine,” I wordlessly nodded back. But I wasn’t fine. I wanted off this damn train. I wanted the smelly man across from me to stop leering at me. I wanted the other smelly man next to me to stop brushing my hand with his as he pretended to just be adjusting his position on the pole. I wanted to lean against my husband instead of this sweat-slicked pole. I wanted to reach our stop and escape to the perfect summer afternoon above ground.
As we approached the next stop, I hoped enough people would exit that I could breathe again. Instead, twenty more boarded.
