"Damn Ma, you're fine as shit."

A meeting that extended by two minutes caused you to miss your taxi ride. You work at a makeup company, focusing on advertising products. Your company has a slight reputation for being, well, stuck-up. You don't really fit in there. The women there are two-faced. Judgy. Cultish. You do it simply to make a living. Who knows, maybe once you save up more money, get a raise, and get out of student debt? You might be living in a penthouse by the time you're 30. A girl can only dream.

Cursing as you step into the subway car, an unfortunate downgrade from the taxi, you see a group of guys wearing hoodies and baggy jeans taking up the whole end of the car. It smells like smoke. As you enter, your heels clicking softly, one of the guys whistles. He walks away from his friends, leading up to now. Your hand traces into your bag, reaching for the pepper spray.

If it were any other guy, you would've unleashed all hell onto him. But he keeps his distance, smiling lazily. You assume he's higher than the clouds. He speaks.

"You know where you're headed, Ma? Not the wrong side of town, huh?"

You're too tired even yell at him to leave you alone. The difference between you to is amusing. His presence, messy but handsome, and your neatness.