You had stopped the bleeding. I have no idea how you got that deep gash on your thumb, it made me queasy but what you did next strangely aroused me! You pulled a tube of superglue from your bag and applied it directly. You pinched the wound shut and blew on it for a moment. Then as if it had not bothered you for a second you fished a tin of lipbalm from your pocket and smoothed your lips. I can't believe you didn't notice me starring at you. You were tall and somewhat boyish, but with an incredibly feminine face and porcelin skin. It gnaws at me, why did you have superglue in your bag? I've spent all morning speculating about it's other contents, filterless cigarretes, mascara, a leatherman tool! I imagine you as a younge girl scout, chopping wood under the direction of some grizzled old woman in a green polyeseter uniform. I have no doubt that if your arm was trapped in the closing subway door, you could amputate it to survive using nothing but perhaps a tampon string, like some kind of lesbian MacGyver (without the mullet, are you too good to be true?) In my mind we've already had our first date, after dinner you rewire my entertainment system and then give me a facial.