A couple of old New Yorkers, not the type photographed, those who’ve had a hard life, premature canes and crippling knees, sat across from me. Tired. She asked him again where to get off, he repeated; even in a curt tone with a bandage around his neck, he repeated. While he rested his eyes before her stop, she kissed him. Kissed him twice out of his slumber and he wanted one more direct. Then, out of their parting lips, he says, “do you have cigarettes!” Of course she didn’t. He reached into his cargo pants and handed her one for the trip, then asked about another thing and she didn’t have it either. With the train coming to a crawl, he fumbled two dollars out of his wallet and into her palm.

“I’ll pay you back.” But she looks at me and smiles with her lips. I smiled back and somehow they felt more alive than the rest of us.

“I don’t care about the money, I’m just tired is all.