She told him he was a train once, when they woke up in her sheets one Sunday morning. He seemed to understand, like someone had told him that before. He didn't even ask her to explain. She hated that.
They met on St. Patrick's Day at The Horseshoe. He came up to her outside, offered her a pull of his flask and told her that her hair was pretty. She laughed and accidentally blew smoke right in his face, but it was alright. Wasn't but an hour later that their faces were just inches away from each other and he was telling her how she was going to save him. She never thought of herself as the kind of girl who wanted to save anybody, but Lord if she didn't light up like Christmas when he said that to her.
Even up to that point, though, she wasn't sure if he was just talking to her to entertain himself for a while or if he wanted to put his lips on hers as much as she wanted him to.
Then, he said, "I'm thinking about trying something here."
"Try it," she said.
And he took her face in his hands and he swallowed her whole.
And here's the kicker. Right then, with their tongues all tangled and their hands all sweaty with the newness of it all, a train rolled by a few blocks away, its howl resonating in the ground and in the air and in their skin and in their bones. She couldn't have turned back if she tried, not once she felt that freight train thunder in her chest.