There was this gypsy woman sitting in front of the station every late afternoon.
Just sitting there, sometimes with a can of coke, a finished bottle of wine or other times buried in her smoking ashes.
When I walked by, she looked at me in an eerie way. The kind of staring from underdogs.
But this afternoon, I passed, she was still sitting there, sleeping.
Priceless.
People kept rushing for their tubes, and she kept sleeping, angelic in her own way (to others might not, but that was my face-of-the-day).

There was this old man who swept and cleaned the street I go through everyday.
Salt and pepper hair.
He was enjoying his cig in the grimed corner of that street, besides two large garbage bins.

There was this surely-drunken man, lying on the bridge.
When I walked by, he pointed to nowhere and said "China's over there. I know it"....

And there was this one, trapped herself in the stuffy room, listening to others' steps to work every morning. She doesn't want to wait, try and love in vain, but......; wonders how many other times she has to walk across the bridge, pretending there's that person, til that day??

Those past few days she has noticed girls often smiled at her on the streets, not guys; has learnt that in order to not let others disappoint you, keep walking, to know how to pass a long day without disturbing the other person; and has found out that grilled red onion is absolutely beyond yummy-ness.


.
You know, really windy.