Jumping on the T at the Brookline Village station is a daily and monotonous task of mine. I have my AirPods in, sending the message to men to not speak to me. A brief pause in my music allows me to hear an announcement from the train. “Next stop: Longwood.” 

I suddenly feel extremely self aware and questioning my outfit choice for the day – my usual oversized sweatshirt and leggings. How could I let the green line man see me like this? Every time he makes an announcement, I feel like he’s speaking directly to me.

I take my AirPods out so I can hear the mysterious voice. “No smoking, please.” “Face coverings must be worn on all MBTA transportation and in stations.” 

By his voice, I can tell he’s older and more mature than the men I’m usually into. I can also hear a little pain in his voice, but I know he’s trying to hide it. I think I can fix him.

I look around to see if anyone notices it too – if they are also hearing the longing and seductive tone behind his announcements.

“Next stop: Fenway.” 

“Next Stop: Kenmore”  Sadly, this is where I must depart the only man to show me respect.

On my commute home I hoped to hear his voice once more, but unfortunately I stepped into one of the newer trains. This one did not have my beloved voice. Instead, it was a woman’s voice. She’s great, we’re gal pals, but she just doesn’t do it for me in the same way. 

I’m so thankful that my mysterious lover has helped with my daily commute. I just wish my next stop was his bed.

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