I saw her get on at 14th Street. There were a few empty seats, but she sat down on the floor without looking around. This odd behavior immediately drew more of my attention, and I began to notice the blemishes on her skin and the odd grayish color of her hands. I wondered if she was a heroine addict.
She frantically searched through her purse, placing various items on the floor without regard for hygiene. The anguish on her face was ambiguous, something between dread and annoyance. I wondered if she was desperately trying to find her drugs. Her face changed immediately when she found what she was looking for. It was a bottle of perfume. She splashed copious amounts on her neck, followed by copious amounts on her crotch. That’s when I concluded that she was probably a prostitute.
After the foundation was applied, her facial blemishes became invisible, but there were still abnormal blemishes on her legs which she did not seem to care about. She spent the next ten minutes applying makeup and brushing her hair. She finished just in time to get off the train at 36th Street. A subtle scent of homelessness wafted in the air as she walked passed me. I wondered if her next client would notice or care.