strangers in Lesbian

The room smells of old paper and lemon-scented polish. It’s meant to be a detective’s office, circa 1948.

The band’s opening chords for the first dance were a physical assault. They vibrated through the cheap white folding chair beneath me and up my spine, a jolt of pure, distilled misery.

The first thing I notice about her is the sheer size of her suitcase, a monstrous, hard-shelled thing she wrestles through the narrow corridor of the carriage with a series of soft, frustrated grun...