by SJLuke
She sat with intent. A paper towel in one hand, rubbing under her
fingernails with the other hand, French manicured tips, so white in the
overcast day, gleaming like hope against the bleakness of her situation

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.

The woman did not look up as cars drove by. I was stopped at a light and watched her until it was my turn to drive away.
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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