The clock showed four minutes. They tapped the readers nearly in unison. The NFC did its thing: the green “Go” flashed, unlocking the turnstiles. She dropped the phone in her pocket and giggled. A moment later her hand found his, her fingers dancing in it. Hands. She rarely just held them. Those long delicate digits of hers would explore his, idly having a finger battle as they walked or talked or walked and talked. It was one of those tiny things that made her her, the things she would not be even aware of. He felt her squeeze his hand as they turned. The subway station was nearly deserted. “New York in the time of pandemic. Pathetic.” He scowled for a moment.