Danielle Davis


There was a girl on a train.

There was a boy across the aisle.

She ate an apple.

He ate a pear.

She wore the tangerine sundress her mother forced over her shoulders.

He wore a shirt boasting “You’ve got a friend in Pennsylvania” his mother forbade him to pack.

She noticed the boy wore the same shoes she did, black, white laces, blue star.

He noticed the downy fuzz on her cheek as she chewed, the spray of sweet with each bite.

She looked through the window at the sky.

He looked through the sky at the hills.

She thought about summer camp and her cat who had died.

He tallied after school earnings and his parents’ grievances with one another.

She imagined meeting the boy in the dining car and ordering sparkling waters.

He imagined holding her hand in the bright sun. 

She laughed at how his voice cracked when he ordered.

He smiled about the clamminess of her palm and the sweat dripping down to where her breasts would be.

She put her earbuds in.

And so did he.

Because it would be a long way and they knew they were going to the same place.

Danielle Davis lives in Los Angeles. Her most recent stories are at Metazen and >kill author.  Her website is


  1. If this is an example of Everyday Genius, then please change the name to Everyday Insipid.

  2. Geez, anonymous! That's pretty harsh. I liked it, for whatever that's worth.