We were commuting and so it goes that we glanced, at a distance yet in full abetment. 

Spontaneously, the tip of each finger smelled of acrid tar. Then our hair would grow and twist itself wildly in a sudden, damp cringe. Teeth darkened while our tongues felt numb and inebriated of smart comebacks and dry tannins.

We trickled an exhausted nod to each other. After all, it was a great #metadate.