My legs be achin’ from all that scrubbing-cleaning. But New York subways be hella crowded. There’s this spot between two white dudes, but that ain’t for me. I be smellin’ like sweat and dirt.
I find meself an empty row and plonk down.
The girls ghost me. The stuffy nose from doing heroin? The tattoos?
The Afro-lady is snoring, and I sit down next to her. Mom would smell the same after double shifts at the MacDonalds. I close my eyes and lean on her, thinking of my dead mother. Tears flow.
The train trundles on.