By Benjamin Smith

Karl Tucker was certain his nipples were visible. As hard as he tried, he could not stop obsessing about it - that and Jessica Leonard. Karl, flaunter of weather forecasts, had been caught unaware by a storm that blew in and changed an unseasonably warm morning into a cold November rain - plastering his short-sleeve, button-up shirt against his torso like a shrink-wrapped sausage. The weight of the rainwater tamped up by his khakis caused them to sag and creep down his lanky legs, until he bore a striking resemblance to Michael Bolton, the cubicle gangster from "Office Space." His brown leather shoes left pools on the ruined cement of the El platform. He could see his breath. And he was certain his nipples were visible.

At the opposite end of the platform, the light of the Purple Line Express had yet to curl into sight, and there stood Jessica Leonard. She had come prepared for the day. Her long brown hair fell beneath a rain cap that matched her Burberry overcoat and galoshes - all bone dry, having made the trip from their office building safely canopied by a red umbrella. What a day for the train to be late, Karl thought as Jessica bent forward, smiling, peering around the crowd, and then waving. Certainly this wave was not intended for Karl, so he ignored it, but when Jessica persisted, Karl did the unthinkable - he waved back. Karl's face reddened, as his right hand continued its pendulous course while his left clutched the seat of his sagging pants, and both sides of his brain throbbed with the ridiculousness of his soggy attire, his poor-person haircut, and the exposition of his nipples.

Despite all leverage of human reason, Jessica pushed toward him. A panicked rush of adrenaline surged through his essence. Every awkward elevator ride they shared flashed through his head. Each recollection of every time he passed her in the break room, opting to spend his lunch hour alone with his bologna sandwich, cascaded through his mind. Karl watched his rapid breaths explode through the air as some ephemeral force fast-forwarded commercials of each morning's quietly desperate walk past Jessica's desk, watching her sprinkle yellow flakes into the bowl of her cubicle goldfish, vowing that tomorrow he would muster up the courage to say hello and maybe even ask her to join him for some Korean food or a taco. Now the ephemeral force was changing channels; every last moment that made Karl feel like a helpless adolescent boy seemed to flash in sequence and blue together, creating a melee of cowardice and missed opportunities in his mind, and as Jessica drew nearer he didn't know what to say or what she wanted or why today, when his nipples were showing and… then from around the steel curve, the Purple Line flashed to life. The mass of commuters pulsed forward, pushing Karl into one car, Jessica Leonard into another.

Karl heard the thump of the closing the doors. The conductor's voice whistled in fast-food distortion over the PA., apparently apologizing for the delay. Karl held white-knuckle tight to the pole next to the doors as more and more commuters packed onto the hot, muggy boxcar. The smell of armpits, alcohol, and gym socks with a dash of Indian food was unavoidable. Crammed that tightly, at least no one could see his nipples. Then, unbelievably, the adjoining emergency door slid open, and there was Jessica, smiling in his direction, seemingly straight at him.

Karl's eyes fixed on the metal pole with a composure hitherto unknown to be in his possession, but in the pole's distorted reflection of his own sad face amid the constellation of commuting weariness he saw Jessica's face slide into position. The train rumbled into motion, and the giant glob of flesh that was the occupants of the car jolted forward then swayed back. Jessica stood on her tip-toes, searching for an opening, a passage in the human sea that led toward him. Karl tried to ignore this by looking out the window, but the windows were fogged, and he was trapped. And then it happened: the recorded voice said, "This is Howard." The physics of the opening doors forced bodies out from the area of high pressure to low. The aisle cleared. And Jessica walked right up to Karl. But Karl looked down at the brown outline of his nipples, pointing through the sheer fabric of his shirt. He stared past his ruined leather shoes to the brown rubber floor and thought, Screw it. I'll just say hi. And as Karl uttered the word, Jessica did too, and she leaned in closer and closer and slowly parted her full, glossy lips, and Karl parted his and closed his eyes and it seemed as though he stood there forever, awaiting this poorly timed, impossible kiss.

Karl, on that Purple Line train, on that rainy November day, with his eyes closed and lips puckered, nipples exposed for the world to see, finally opened his eyes, confused. And Jessica Leonard was beside him. Embracing a man directly behind him. The recorded voice said, "The next stop is Belmont." And Karl slunk down into an empty seat next to the happy couple.

Karl got off the train at Belmont, although it wasn't his stop. He stepped out into the rain, clamped both hands down on his sagging pants, and watched the rain turn the fabric of his shirt into a being desperate to cling to him in search of love. It was a two mile walk, during which, his nipples rose like rockets of ignominy. Fortunately, no one noticed.

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