We traversed stairs, turnstiles and hallways to arrive here, and we stood on the platform for the F train to Brooklyn.
Those tunnels are a deep dark hole, but the light and the tiles on the platform held back the darkness. I saw a tableau playing out in the greasy noise across the open tracks down there.
Four squares of light were framed by steel columns holding up the tunnel, and under those four proscenium arches people hesitated or stopped, or moved on quickly.
One person stayed and engaged men somehow, getting them to stop while she listened, and then they would move away, seeming to go about their business without a second thought.
And the question remained, what did she ask them?