I was on the subway yesterday, bumping along with the yellow plastic and remembering my thoughts from when I was 12. I know I am going to die soon, not like a premonition, but when you are old as I am, there isn't much to stop death from coming.
Across the newspaper floor a little girl sat under an advertisement for Cancun. She was wearing white sneakers and a pink sweater and held to her mother's ringed hand as we sped in the artificial light. As the door danced open, I saw her age, 16, 24, 46, 72 and she smiled at me in her oldness and I remembered we were friends.
In the rustling din the woman mother stood and walked to the door, balanced and beautiful in black heels. Her daughter followed, holding the wool skirt because it was a request, not a desire. As they skitted the aisle, her blond hair swung and she raised her head, looked me in the eye, and whispered, ""
I nodded and when the metal clanged closed I sank into the seat,
soothed and satiated.
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