The girl is teaching her brother how to fake a slap. You are an only child. She slaps her thigh as she passes her other hand across his face. From your perspective, it appears as if she makes physical contact. They are good at faking a slap and at being siblings. They play far from you on the same subway platform as you but on the north side of you. You hear them laugh, and it’s a playful laugh, and it’s a strong laugh, and you feel alone. Alone comes in a rush, out of a door open not by accession but attrition. Alone is a liquid, dense and dark and urgent. You turn away and back and away and back. They seem happy and therefore beautiful. Unencumbered. You self-apply the same implicative logic and you work the equation and you insert the earbuds that came with your phone into your ears. You listen to your music instead of the world’s. The train arrives and you lose track.