on the F train, vol. II

I was sitting near a young woman on the train today that I only noticed because she was right in front of me. I was busy with my iPod; she seemed just like every other person on the train. I noticed a chain of dark red beads, hanging out of her bag, that I thought was just a pretty necklace, until I realized she was running her fingers over the beads slowly, gripping, white-knuckled.

She was praying, eyes squeezed shut. The pretty beads were a rosary.