A Tuesday Morning, a Passerby She waits there, suspended in free fall. Everything is still. Her coffee hits the platform first, and she will soon follow. A Tuesday morning. She was at the train station, thinking about the places she needed to be. And in the swarm of people also thinking about the places they needed to be, she made a small misstep. She tripped. Now she will fall. She will miss the train. She will get back up, and she will take the next one. But she will be late. That’s how it usually goes. But where are you in all of this? Open your eyes. You are here, at the station, standing in the doorway of the train. Your eyes catch her as she is falling. You look at where you are standing. You don’t move. She is just out of reach. She hits the ground—a slap on the concrete. You wince. People watch her. Your first thought is: Your second thought is: should you help her? It would be easy enough to step off the train—to help her up. It’s allergy season, and you have some spare tissues in your pocket. It would be easy enough to clean the spilled coffee from her hands... But this is a train station, don’t you have places to be?
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