The neon tobacco queen

My theory is that if you ride the train long enough, you will see every walk of life.  In the best detail I can, here she is, in all her glory (twice today I confirmed her existence, the first time she nearly mowed me over with her red suitcase, the second, I thought I was hallucinating, but managed to avoid the baggage): 1. Standing a little under 5 feet tall, 110 pounds, I estimated her aged face to be around 70, hair in a messy spiral curl about shoulder length, glasses framing her delicate face, still some life left in her eyes 2. Protecting her well traveled soles from the harsh linoleum lining the train floor were a pair of more than gently used blue Converse high tops 3. To warm the pinky toes, and the other 8 toes I assume she was still in possession of, was a pair of thick burgundy socks, knee highs pushed down all bunched up in that fuzzy-fur-reminds-me-of-80's-dancer-style fashion 4. Grey (boring) sweat pants with super white reflective racing stripes (nice touch) adorning both sides and tucked neatly into the burgundy socks 5. Neon yellow shorts, faded some, but with enough glow left to audition for Vegas, worn on top of the sweats.  I'm not sure if this was ever in mainstream fashion, but I'd bet a small fortune that the answer is no 6. Bright orange long sleeve sweat shirt stained brown at the cuffs 7. To accent the sweat shirt, she topped it with a neon green t-shirt, plain Jane, nothing in print 8. One green and white rubber glove of-the-garden-variety on her right hand 9. One pink neon I <3 NY baseball cap kept some of the curls in check, slightly crooked 10. And she was spitting tobacco into a Styrofoam cup that at one point in time, had been white

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