"Stand Clear of the Closing Doors"

On the subway, I saw another homeless person. She looked Native American, her belongings were stuffed in boxes, and by the smell I knew she hadn't showered for over a week. She sat alone. People stared at her, myself numbered among them. Looking at her skin, she seemed like some kind of leper. Formidable wounds dug out patches of her tan skin. The subway wound through the tunnels like a snake and then it suddenly bursted out onto the train platform. The brakes pierced my ears as the silver doors slid open before the train stopped. Suddenly, I saw the leper rest one of her belongings right before the doors, kicking it out onto into the station. No one looks. No one cares. New Yorkers here are used to it. But then I look at her stuff, not wanting to understand the full reality, wanting to remain ignorant: she only had a few belongings left.