I'd been waiting for a while for the R train at 23rd Street, but when I finally sat down on the subway car, my exposed toes were still red from the cold, rainy day.
As I clutched my black canvas tote bag and purse on my lap, a fragile old woman with freshly-set gray curls sat perpendicular to me, leaned over, and tapped my left knee.
"Are your feet cold?"
I felt a little embarrassed that I was wearing strappy shoes without stockings so late in the season, so I said, "Yeah, it wasn't this bad this morning...I'm pretty cold."
I thought maybe our conversation was over, but she shifted in her seat, and said, "I know I sound like a grandmother. I can't help it."
I smiled and assured her, "That's ok. It's nice."
We both got off the train one stop later.
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