Redline to Twinbrook

Half my suitcase catches in the wheezing doors of the metro. I panic and pull, while a bot-like female voice urges passengers to step back from the entrances to the trains. The red bulbs blinking adjacent to the tracks blur as I keep tugging. I recall a poster

You’re Supposed to Love Me More

“I think we need to talk.” No good has ever, in the history of spoken language, come from those words. He is standing across the room from me, near the doorway. He has me in plain sight, the only point of egress covered. Still, he feels