People sit cradling things.
Purses. Backpacks. Briefcases. Shopping bags.
Crunched together like sardines, occupying as little space as possible, people hold on to their belongings as if they are treasures.
The man with the angry red scar on his forearm is in his own world.
A woman’s earring glistens like a dewdrop, reflecting the light from the cold fluorescent lighting above.
Another woman with chipped red nail polish, shoes undone, fiddles with her bags, annoying the people seated on either side of her.
Two people, seated across from each other, talk across the aisle. People pretend they’re not listening. But they are.
And then, the discarded treasures. Scattered on the floors are the leftovers and discards of things consumed, no longer of interest: a lottery ticket torn in half, a dog-eared newspaper, a sandwich wrapper that once held someone’s lunch…the remains of a day, once treasures on the train.
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