Transexual: Tube

The London Underground is a place of unspoken rules. You don't make eye contact. You don't talk to strangers. You certainly don't fall in love between Leicester Square and Tottenham Court Road. Then, the lights flickered and died.

"This is my stop," Mia said, standing up. She hesitated. The "Tube wall" was trying to rebuild itself as people around them began staring back at their screens. transexual tube

For the next forty minutes, the rules of the Tube vanished. In the cocoon of the stalled carriage, they talked. They talked about the jobs they hated, the coffee shop they both frequented, and the strange comfort of seeing a familiar face in a city of nine million people. The darkness made it easier to be honest; it was like talking to a confessional or a dream. The London Underground is a place of unspoken rules

They had been "commuter ghosts" for three months. Every Tuesday and Thursday, they sat in the same cracked leather seats of the third carriage. They knew each other’s reading habits—she liked dog-eared thrillers; he preferred thick biographies—but they had never spoken. You certainly don't fall in love between Leicester