Cris wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned in, but before their lips could meet:
“Don’t kiss me here.”
He didn’t let go. “Why the hell not?”
“It’s dirty.” Her eyes flicked to the ground and back, as if she thoroughly disdained the platform.
“You mean…just here? Or the CTA in general?”
“Yes, here! The CTA! All of it. Just think of the billions of germs squirming their way up our legs right now, crossing the bridge of our arms, mingling on our bodies. Ew. I’ve just grossed myself out. I don’t even want to touch you.” Annie shoved Cris’ arms away.
“But there are plenty of places just as filthy as—”
“Oh, really? Yesterday I literally walked through a gauntlet of four pissing men to get to the train. It wasn’t even in a proper alley! It was right next to—”
“I’m pretty sure urine is sanitary.”
“Gee, that’s so great, Cris. I’m so glad urine is sanitary.”
Cris stepped back to have a look at his girlfriend. Annie had her arms crossed and her shoulders hunched, as if she were trying to force her bones to fuse into a protective shell. Her jaw was clenched and her lips had gone white with nerves and contempt. She never used to be this way. Her anxiety was a new development.
“Holy shit. You’re really serious.” Annie only shivered in response. “Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t make the CTA any cleaner. And when you think about it, it can’t be much worse than other places we’ve been together. I mean, what about our bed? We sleep in there naked a lot, and we don’t wash the sheets all that often—”
“That’s just us, though.” Annie wormed her way back into his arms and leaned her head against his chest. “I don’t mind your germs. I love your germs.”
I truly did walk through a gauntlet of peeing men yesterday, on the way back from Molly's show. And they say women go to the bathroom in packs. Tonight: packing. Tomorrow: moving and a gogo show. Exciting stuff.