Her head was down. A cap covering loose braids. An oversized, black jacket on her thin form.
She wore white Nike sneakers, dabbing spit on her fingertips to rub off smudge marks.
Her seat was a trash bag. A suitcase and backpack laid next to it.
Watched her rub each French-tipped nail with the crinkled paper towel.
Her head bent, her face concealed, but her world was an open book to me.
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