refreshing violence to their tiny understandings

Maybe a week ago, I got on the subway like I do pretty much every morning. I  found a spot to stand in the set of doors that would not open until the next express stop at 36th Street. To my immediate left, on a three person bench filled with three and a half people, was a middle aged woman who if I absolutely had to assert a memory, was wearing scrubs, but the colorful kind not the militaristic kind.
She had an aquiline nose, if that’s what you call a big skinny humpbacked nose. She was kind looking, though not beautiful. I posted up against the subway door that specifically says don’t lean on me and resumed sucking down my carton of orange juice and rooting in my bag for my book. As I looked down into my bag I noticed the woman pull out a phone, same kind as mine, though hers had a cracked screen, and open up the familiar faux-legal pad of the note-taking application. Because I have no manners and  I was sharing the same 10 square feet of earth with this woman, I watched over the subway armrest as she tapped out “it was over” and then paused as the train halted at 45th Street. As we got back underway she finished the thought with “a long time ago.”

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