Sitting in the New York subway is a patient who just received a 525 dollar Ketamine therapy treatment. They are making their way back from the Financial District where the medical office sits on the 10th floor of a building with a lobby and doorman.
A man lays on the seats across from the patient, snoring. His pants have a hole in the crotch area and his shoes are so torn they’re barely on his feet. They function more like slippers for his feet, which are covered by black socks. He clutches a few dollar bills in his hands.
The subway moves on, passing the NYU station. For a brief moment, young adults in trendy clothes come into view, presumably college students. They huddle in groups, talking an academic’s talk and laughing.
And then, the sleeping man moves and as though on cue, so does the train.
Passing straight through Manhattan, stations come and go. A man with two tote bags, a woman with a child, some teenagers, and so, all seen through the quiet train car.
Stoic faced people enter and leave the train. One drinks a can of Croix while haphazardly holding onto the pole.
Slowly, the destination screeches into view and leaves behind those who cannot leave.