Everyone appeared to be helpless. It was mid morning, on a lower level subway platform. She, twenties, blonde hair, conservatively dress with two pieces of luggage, was bent over sideways on the bench, asleep. The MTA system has sectioned the benches all over the city, so that lying down to sleep is not possible. Sitting up is the only option. But most sleepers, as sleep deepens, list to one side. She had listed with her head almost touching the dividing armrest. Each passerby, young, old, male and female took a second look. The females without exception all wore an expression of some level of concern. The males were either neutral, amused or in the case of one, made me uncomfortable by his pacing back and forth behind the bench, in long even strides, not looking at her.
As my train delayed, I looked at her hands and feet. They were grime laden, clearly had not been washed in some time. I did not try to see her face. One young woman came over to where I was, and I asked her if she thought to wake her? She said she didn’t know. I approached another, older woman who appeared to be more than mildly staring. She said,’I fear she is either drunk or on drugs. If you look at the residue by the trash can’. I looked where she pointed and saw the remains of the contents of someone’s stomach. She continued,’Best to let her sleep it off.’ My train came, and I boarded. But it stayed with me all day. My only consolation was that during the day the platform is never empty. There is indeed safety in numbers. What would you do, for next time?