Stone Face

Something tells me though she may not be inner-city, she may have been here frequently growing up. She’s young. Maybe 15, 16. Full face of make up. Dressed well, like she’s in her fashionable mid twenties. Casual Friday morning.

She watches my dog as we walk into the train car. I can’t even guess what she’s thinking. Her face so stone.

The usual nonsense that happens when you’re high on the train is happening to me. And the dog is driving me crazy. Anxious and paranoid. Having trouble doing things I know she’s capable of doing. I feel like I’m babysitting, it’s frustrating. And at that moment I solidified my need for independence and freedom. Just me.

If she even noticed my struggles with Su, I’ve no idea. Just casually glancing down at her phone every so often. Then I notice him.

The man sitting right beside her. Are they together? Her father?

Older gentleman. 50’s? Soccer dad shoes-comfy tennis’. He’s just like the daughter. Quiet, expressionless. Both sitting straight, staring ahead, unamused and uninterested.

I wonder if they know how alike they are.


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