Queens in January

11 January, 2004 1:22 a.m.

The subway represented some sort of knot of human confusion to her, though she wasn't quite sure what. What she was sure of was that when she strained to look past the scratched and scuffed plexiglass she had entered some sort of subterranean science fiction world--sweaty, leaking walls graffiti struck, mottled. The world was hallow and she was tracing veins beneath the surface dressed in her wool pea coat and two dollar knit cap and at any moment the concrete and the steel could all collapse and leave her buried there. And it may seem sad, but sometimes on the W she felt the car sway and thought of the wheels buckling, tracks crumbling. Not because she was feeling destructive, but because, well, it was January and cold and late, and she was tired.



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