The girl across from me has purple hair, and gold rings
through her nose and lips, and The telltale edges of tats which are mostly
hidden by long arms of her winter coat, she can't be more than 20, though at my
age I can't tell at all what people younger than I look like, and hardly
remember what being like them felt like when I was their age, she rides alone
but has baggage enough for two or three companions, and I wonder where she is
going, carrying so much on her shoulders, a female Atlas forced to bear the
burdens of the world, still too young, too naïve, to know exactly where she is
going, and unable to predict if she will have to stop off before her intended
destination, even though her ticket says she is going the whole way
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