Dear New York Transit Gods,
Please send more cute, non-gay boys who read books and don't listen to Eminem out loud on their phones into your subway domain. The amount of soulmate prospects is becoming staggeringly low during the past few weeks and I am crest-fallen. I'll make you a deal, MTA gods, I'll even stand to be humiliated by getting my foot caught in the door of the train (like that one time, bitches) if you send prince lumberjack to rescue me from quite a dramatic death. Deal? Hope I have not offended you, because heaven knows I don't want to accidently sit on anything wet on the subway seats.
Love,
J
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