I was on my way to work on the subway Line 13, just after sunset, when I noticed her out of the comer of my eye. She was sitting a few feet down from me in our subway car, somehow distinct from the other homeward-bound, fluorescent-lit passengers. Over the next few minutes, longer glances soon colored in the details of that first hasty sketch. She was older, perhaps 60 or 70, in a colorful, old blouse and long black skirt, hair pulled up but veering toward eventual disar- ray. She was small, just a shade from being frail, constantly making slight, energetic movements, and somehow, truly alone in that way peculiar to the eccentric.

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