It had been pouring for hours. Everyone carried a wet umbrella or was soaked. They clung together pushing ahead to get into the car first, even before the train pulled up. A mental “me-first” game.
A usual wednesday.
Not much room to sit. But people sat anyway. Squeezed their way in between the overweights and relieved by the underweights and the scrawny. I stood. I felt too gross to sit. Pants were wet. And sitting would lead to umbrellas dripping down my leg.
Stops passed by. I looked at the people around me. Nothing new. Wet people.
42nd street, grand central. Quick movement below me. I looked down. I saw an arm moving. An arm dropped a paper on a lap. On top of a black backpack.
I peaked as inconspiciously as possible. She closed her dark skinned hand over the paper. Surprised, then back to stoic. Back to the world of ipod. But I could see the curiousity and confusion. Started inching open her pack’s zipper to put away the paper for later. But so still.
She picks up her hand, about to pick up the paper and twirls her long black curly hair, soft from gel and rain mix. Then puts it backdown. I thought I wouldn’t find out.
But then she picked up it. The yellow thick paper. I could see blue inside. She opened it. She frowned. And I peaked, my eyes down…