Across me, two Asian looking women sit still. One, with thick glasses, reads a yellowing paper. Microscopic Chinese characters populate the front page. The other woman, lips puckered, closes her eyes every time our train stops at a station.
I have not had a good read since winter. Work pressures, I blame. Too much attention to the boyfriend, a friend tells me, otherwise.
The train surfaces by the Yankee stadium. The surly one gets up and shuffles towards the doors. The bespectacled one folds the paper and leaves it on the bench. She, too, shambles to the exit.
I look again at the paper. I realize it is just a local tabloid. Yesterday’s.