"What's with the stank face?" asks the man behind me coming up the stairs from the subway.
Before I have time to process how I might answer, a woman's voice answers, "That's just my regular face."
All of us come out the subway station into a rainy evening, with tiny needles of cold stinging our faces, and the traffic shush-ing by, wet tires on wet asphalt.
Later, I hear her say, "Sometimes my knees hurt, all the sitting on the subway."
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