If her coat had been buttoned wrong, one side hanging a foot lower than the other, Marge would've wanted someone to tell her that. She wouldn't have wanted to be walking here and there, from the subway, to the coffee cart, to her job, with that enormous flaw in her appearance. So she was very surprised at the reaction from the man standing next to her on the subway platform when she told him that his coat was improperly buttoned.

She figured that was the difference between men and women. Women like her knew the value of taking pride in proper dress during public appearances. Most men found their definitions outside themselves, drawing external circumstances onto their identity as sloppily as their wore their outer garments. She stepped briskly past the ungrateful gentleman and got into the subway car.

He had snapped at her with a scalding admonition to mind her own business - fierce intensity most often directed toward those familiar, wife or children, not random strangers. But wasn't that always the story, she thought, as the offender slumped wearily into a seat behind her. The A train began to pick up speed with a whoosh, silver hurtle. Yes, Marge remembered: we reach out to touch vulnerability and, doing so, become vulnerable ourselves.

Marge examined her fingernails. One had broken down low this morning when it snagged on her sweater. She should've put a bandaid on it so it wouldn't catch again. She turned slightly so that she could see the man with the sloppy buttoning job and felt gratified to see that he had corrected the problem. She had a 20 minute ride on this train and so she reached into her bag, trying to dig around without drawing too much attention to herself.

I'm sorry, he softened, a hand on her shoulder. I've had a long day. A silent treatment was in order but something in his tone stopped her. Everyone has one of these days, she replied curtly. She felt him settle against the seat. I, uh—, he started. It's just, you reminded me of my wife. She's dead.

It wasn't something one wanted to hear on the A train.

"I am not always unpleasant."