She — with her cordovan, knee-high boots cinched with brass buckles, reads a magazine while adjusting her long, auburn hair, clutching a black leather notebook with her hand.
The man with peppered hair to match his salty manner, tucked into his wool knit hat the color of olives still fresh from their plucking, shuffles by.
Three women, their gloriously melodious voices marking them as being in the same family, continue a conversation as they descend from escalator to platform, the eldest wearing a fine, mocha colored felt hat with a purple flower on the left side.
The concrete grey of the platform ground captures the attention of the tall, thin boy in a long, black coat whose hands are plunged deep into his pockets.
The circumference of her cranberry colored hair, at 24 inches, was twice the width of her waist and only half as wide as her tote bag.
From floor to ceiling she was be-jeaned — complete with faded blue denim shoes and knee-length duster — with the exception of her candy apple red, large knit mittens with holes through which the thumbs were having their way with a tattered copy of The DaVinci Code.
A sharply dressed man, with coordinating pointy black boots, suddenly grabs his abdomen but never stops staring desperately into his Kindle. not even when the train arrives.