Sometimes a moment lingers and the memory it produces is like a snapshot.

The customary labyrinth of tunnels thrum with a persistent pulse. Throngs wait, many to be transported to their destinations on a wet, not yet winter, cold night.

One after another after another, those with and without permanent dwellings, share the sectioned wooden benches to rest or sleep; some seemingly lean along a wall that does not exist. All find strategic locations for their possessions placed or stored in canvas, leather, plastic, garbage bags, shopping bags often beyond the intended capacity.

Certain postures epitomize homelessness, perhaps insanity and destitution. One need not notice.

There is a corpulent woman, seated, wearing skirts, blouses and sweaters each layer peeking out a hem or collar. She fusses with an oversized cloth saturated with red and pink hues, attempting to gather her coif. Despite the exhaling chill of the cement floor she barely interacts with the sandals lying just beyond the soles of her feet. Her toes are naked except for the display of a sun-soaked orange varnish. Each big toe has a long nail curling like a Chinese emperor’s. Her individuality shouts in defiance of being ignored.

Thank you for taking the time to read my post! Welcome to the tales of a woman solo traveler and thoughts to make today the start of something new. I hope you find information and inspiration in the text and images and join me in my quest for growth, wonderment and self-improvement