The girl that sits across from me is knitting a scarf in a bag...it is full of color...bright, vibrant color which she is not. She is drab. Gray bag. Brown boots. A jacket of indeterminately gray-blue-green color that one might paint a Chrysler. Her knees are bruised...probably from tearing out a carpet in her no bedroom walkup. She makes things there...fixes things. Has a toolbox and a good pair of scissors, not some plastic crap you buy in the Duane Reade back to school aisle. She just got up and off, but she'll probably buy a Diet Coke from the bodega on her corner in Downtown Brooklyn, because even though its after midnight, she'll probably spend a few more hours on that scarf tonight.