… and people are selling hats on the metro. “Peruvian style hats. Keep your ears warm, in colors to match your outfit or your shoes. Only five dollars.” The mans sales partner then repeats the pitch in Spanish. A teenage boy staggers down the aisle and asks, “can I please have a dollar. I need something to get something to eat. I’m starving. My stomach hurts.” He seems so young, in the childlike way that his voice expects someone to take care of him, implores that someone take care of him. Seconds after the hungry boy moves to the next car, another teenage boy in a fashionable jacket and wearing headphones enters the car. He looks like other boys I have seen on big city public transportation – stylish and handsome, but this boy moves with a quiet confidence instead of the usual swagger. In a minute, I look over and see that he is covering his face and silently crying. He tries to compose himself, but the tears keep coming. The people nearby steal nervous, sympathetic glances, unsure of whether to risk embarrasing the boy by aknowledging his tears. Finally, the woman sitting across the aisle from him hands him a tissue. He takes it and gets off at the next stop. The woman and a man sitting nearby talk about their jobs. The woman gets off the train and the man shots after her asking if he can give her his number. The woman says that she’ll see him tomorrow. The man sighs, contentedly as we sinks back into his seat. The man and I get off at the same stop. It is raining steadily now. He says, “it’s like they say, the further west you go, the wetter you get,” and I can’t wait to be moving eastward again.