Privilege by dl mattila

On our bus in Berlin is a man on his cell phone, speaking a language we
don’t understand, but his manner and tone lead me to believe he’s
conversing with a woman. I envision myself in her stead, phone pressed to
ear, until my sister leans-in, whispering her suspicions, saying a man of his
nature should never be privileged a wife.

fevered pitch
a shadow crosses
the line