there is a girl who boards the streetcar--olive skin, dark hair, small, thin. homeless. i first saw her a year ago: overly talkative but good-natured; generally neat; generally coherent. every month or two i'm witness to the dramatic deterioration...

i started writing this two months ago.

last week, with exactly these words in mind, i stumbled on her in the queen subway tunnel. as if she'd lived 200 years. as if all the chaos, fear, entropy of the street had run through her head and out her mouth...

it took hours to stop shaking, to stop the tears collecting in my throat..

i still haven't recovered from that scene. i'm not sure i ever will.