Dear Relationship Junkies,
I know you just met and this love is fresh and new. And I want to be the first to say kudos on meeting "the one," as you say. Yay for you being an open person; now, stand back as I shit all over your dream.
This is the drunk train. It's all make believe in rose colored glasses. Your epic love story should not live and die on the local A train, on a Saturday night. The only relationship that should last the length of a 12-stop subway journey is the relationship between a 6" sub and your mouth (a journey that ends with a satisfied stomach and a fully intact heart).
I get it; you meet someone "interesting" on the train and get swept up in conversation, and then swept up in each other's mouths like a regular Harlequin romance. But hold on there, Speedy Gonzales. What's interesting to drunk you isn't always interesting to sober you. It's like a horrible prank in the right lighting. Sure he may look like a cute New York artist with a dream, sure she may look like a killer rocker chic with a wicked smile, but know this: come sunrise this love will get puked all over... like for real! And if your new lover can't stick around for the left over dry mouth, the red puffy eyes with the fake eyelashes stuck to places they shouldn't be, and the remaining upchuck from the club last night, then this love isn't gonna make it. Take a step back from your relationship pokéballs and just say no... You don't need to catch 'em all. Take your drunk ass home to bed, and go to sleep.
A fellow subway rider