Hips over ankles. Shoulders over hips. Stand up straight. Stand upright. Every day I ride the train along the same tired track, surrounded by the tired, bean-fueled faces glued to screens, bundled against the elements one story above us. I hold a cup of coffee, feel the weight slosh back and forward and pray it doesn’t find the tiny hole to erupt through and burn my hand. But the sloshing does me good. It tells me how to wiggle my hips as I stand not touching anything or anyone and simply enjoying the ride.
rumbles in my hands–