She sits across from me, exhausted, depleted, undone. It is seven am and she is dressed in a tailored blue suit, her hair a beautiful shade of black, translucent pearls adorns her fragile neck. Something about her exhaustion attracts me. My eyes follow her.
She gets off at Queen, and walks mechanically up the stairs. The station is engulfed with the morning crowds, rushing through, trying to get to their busy lives. She walks as if in a dream, unaware of the rush, slowly, mechanically, one foot and then another, as if to say that the mere act of walking was her valiant attempt at surviving.