Picking up a woman on the subway is not impossible, but it is really fucking difficult. It’s not you, it’s just the general discomfort of the situation. Strangers are mere centimeters away (or less, during peak hours); there’s accidental skin-on-skin contact. Chances are, she’s either on her way to work, or on her way home: rushing or exhausted—nothing conducive to having good conversation. You may think you’re all Michael Fassbender’s character in Shame, ice-grilling her tight-clad legs, but you’re not suave and you don’t look like Fassbender. She has a sneaking suspicion you’re actually a serial killer/rapist. Maybe both. That’s real life, bros.