Monday, February 11, 2013

In New York City, we are not overly solicitous of one another's pain

She stands about three steps up from the bottom of the stairs to the subway platform, clutching the railing. The crushing flow of commuters briefly balks, then diverts its rush around her into the trains that carry them away.

Her eyes are closed, as if she is asleep, but the dream she dreams is not a pleasant one. Wrinkles furrow her brow into Shar Pei rolls, and she stays standing there, stock statue still, as another train rockets in, sucks up its cargo, and shrieks back into the darkness.

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