It’s not uncommon to learn the faces of one’s morning commute. In a parallel universe, I’m on a first-name basis with the petite, stylish, cigarette-smoking Asian man whom I’ve passed every day at Girard Station for the last two years. He calls me “sis” and offers a drag when he senses my day’s off to… Continue reading I want to be your friend. Like, the in-person kind.
