Why I love the NYC subway system.
On my way to work this morning, I noticed the woman next to me reading a hand-out about Buprenorphine, an opiate-like drug that helps ease withdrawal, but won't get you high. Apparently, it contains naloxone, which apparently will trigger withdrawal symptoms if someone tries to crush the buprenorphine pills to get high.
The woman looked somewhat disheveled, and she had on a faded red sundress. Her hair was graying, and she certainly didn't appear well-off. The hand-out was worn, as if it had been opened up and re-folded many times. I couldn't help but wonder if she was the addict, and had spent the majority of her money on drugs, but was now trying to recover. Or maybe it was a child or husband who took all her money without regard for her, whom she was now desperately trying to reach. I wanted to give her a hug, but instead I pretended that I hadn't even noticed her (according to typical subway etiquette).
Maybe I should feel bad about reading over the woman's shoulder, but she did have it in plain view. That's what I love about the subway: without meaning to, people give you the most fascinating glimpses into their lives.
The woman looked somewhat disheveled, and she had on a faded red sundress. Her hair was graying, and she certainly didn't appear well-off. The hand-out was worn, as if it had been opened up and re-folded many times. I couldn't help but wonder if she was the addict, and had spent the majority of her money on drugs, but was now trying to recover. Or maybe it was a child or husband who took all her money without regard for her, whom she was now desperately trying to reach. I wanted to give her a hug, but instead I pretended that I hadn't even noticed her (according to typical subway etiquette).
Maybe I should feel bad about reading over the woman's shoulder, but she did have it in plain view. That's what I love about the subway: without meaning to, people give you the most fascinating glimpses into their lives.