On my right, a woman on the train is clenching a rosary and praying softly to herself. Her nails are painted silver and she is wearing purple, fingerless gloves. I can’t make out any of her words—only faint hisses of the letter “S”.
On my left, another woman is reading the chapter “Financial Peace” in a book called Dumping Debt. She is wearing a black coat, and her white hair obscures her face. A block of text in the center of the page reads:
IAMNOWHERE
I AM NOWHERE
I AM NOW HERE
Relatively speaking, I have very little to cope with, but l wonder whose mechanisms are working best.
