There is poster of Lionel Richie on the metro. I am surprised by his ageless good looks. We have a staring contest. I do well for a while, but then, as the metro is approaching my station, his deep dark eyes pierce my soul, and I have to look away.
"You win this time, Mr. Richie." I say as I stand up. He says nothing; he just keeps staring that soul-piecing stare.

I then see a poster of Shakira on the opposite wall, staring back at Lionel Richie. Her's is a broken stare, missing that sexy latin confidence. Poor girl- how long has she been fixed under Lional Richie's piercing stare. Weeks? Months, even? I feel ill.