She's a part of my life, this woman wrapped in a shawl that has holes and stains, as she looks out at traffic on Franklin Boulevard.
Her hair is brown, I think, as she sits nestled in the crease of a closed business with garbage bags guarding her space. No smile is on this wide and earnest face, as she studies traffic, facing the day. She does not notice that I drive a different car.
Sometimes she wears a beanie and other times, when the frost lingers on the windshield, she pulls the bags up around her to break the wind. I look in her face as I pass, slowing to make a turn onto 5th, noticing her not noticing me.
One day I will touch her hand and make her less invisible as I come to know her story. She is part of my world.
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